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1 


P N 




















THE HAPPY TOWER 


By 

Grace Irwin 


LITTLE MISS REDHEAD 
UNDER SUMMER SKIES 
ALMOST FIFTEEN 







Peter and Cynthia could be relied upon to imagine 

almost anything fantastic . 
















The Happy Tower 


By 

Grace Irwin 

ti 


Pictures by the Author 


3 


J ) 



Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Company 

Boston 1940 New York 





PZi 

III 



Copyright, 1940, by 

LOTHROP, LEE AND SHEPARD COMPANY 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be re¬ 
produced in any form without permission in writing 
from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes 
to quote brief passages in connection with a review 
written for inclusion in magazine or newspaper. 


» » 

< 



CL 

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

^ClA 1 401 83 . 

d 1 - 

MAY -4 1940 


Once upon a time / knew a big family of children very 
much like the children in this book. They, too, had 
devoted parents—a lively father and a wise mother. 
Yes, and there was a brave grandmother. Curiously 
enough, they also had a faithful Delia! 

To them all, I lovingly dedicate this book, and I thank 
them for the happy memories they have left with me. 

Grace Irwin 










Contents 




I. 

Exciting News 

13 

II. 

House Hunting 

29 

III. 

Thermometers 

45 

IV. 

A Lost Father 

72 

V. 

Country Life 

95 

VI. 

Rabbits 

126 

VII. 

New Friends 

167 

VIII. 

Turtles and Tadpoles 

193 

IX. 

Green Watermelons 

209 

X. 

Two Letters 

226 

XI. 

Hidden Treasure 

238 

XII. 

Old-Lady-Witch 

246 

XIII. 

Saucers of Milk 

270 

XIV. 

Grandma’s Secret 

289 









~ Exciting News ~ 

It was altogether fitting that the new baby should be 
called Patricia, for hadn’t she arrived into this world 
one very bright and beautiful Saint Patrick’s Day 
morning? But it must be truthfully and regretfully 
admitted at once, that her name fitted her far better 
than she herself and her two brothers and two sisters 
fitted into the Abbott’s apartment. For a long time, 
that apartment had seemed too small for four children, 
and at the advent of the fifth, it positively overflowed 
and bulged. 

But Cynthia, who was only eight on the morning 
Patty was born, did not share the worries of Mr. and 
Mrs. Abbott about the size of the apartment. She 


13 




14 


The Happy Tower 

felt that having a sister born on Saint Patrick’s Day, 
who was to be called Patricia, was “exciting news,” 
“odd news,” as they so often called it on the radio. 

Certainly she must let people know about it at 
once and without delay! “Let’s go downstairs and 
tell Mr. O’Rourke!” she said, grabbing Judy by one 
plump arm. Judy was four and a half. “Let’s tell 
him about Patricia being born on Saint Patrick’s 
day. If we don’t tell him right away, he’ll think we 
have a cat up here, instead of a baby. She sounds 
like a cat!” 

Judy was delighted. She liked to go down into the 
O’Rourke’s apartment, in the “cellar” as she called 
it. For Mr. O’Rourke was the superintendent of their 
apartment building and he lived in the basement. He 
was fat and ruddy and almost always good-natured. 
He liked to pull her funny little pig tails and tell 
her that her eyes were like two blue lakes in Killarney 
(wherever Killarney was Judy had no idea—nor even 
what it was)! 

“Let’s!” And Judy ran toward the door. “Let’s 
tell him. He will think she’s only a cat if we don’t. 
I did. She squeals like one,” Judy was very often 
a poll-parrot, to Cynthia’s annoyance. 

Cynthia intended to do the telling, however, for 
she liked nothing better except, perhaps, to hear 
“news” in the first place. But it was Judy who 
achieved it, even before they arrived at the 


Exciting News 15 

O’Rourke’s. She shouted it through the door of the 
elevator before Tom, the elevator boy, had had time 
to open it. She shouted it at the new door man who 
was already her mortal enemy, the crossest man she 
had ever known. She shouted it at the postman, and 
at Mrs. Parks, who lived on the first floor and who 
was just leaving to walk her dog. Mrs. Parks was, 
if possible, an even worse crank than the new door 
man who was-the-worst-crank-anyone-ever-heard of! 

“Judy Abbott, let me tell it next,” Cynthia ordered, 
feeling cheated. “Let me tell Mr. O’Rourke first. 
It was my idea, anyway.” 

Judy nodded. But Judy couldn’t keep anything 
to herself for even a second. She had not meant to 
tell the other people. Indeed, she hadn’t! It had just 
burst out. 

When they reached Mr. O’Rourke’s door, Cynthia 
turned and faced her small sister. 

“Now remember, Judy. I am going to tell Mr. 
O’Rourke. And if you tell him first I’ll never let 
you come with me again when I am telling things. 
It’s not fair.” She spoke very firmly. 

Judy bobbed her head up and down in violent 
agreement. 

“All right, Cynthia, you tell him! You tell him 
first—” 

But before Judy finished, Mr. O’Rourke’s door 


16 


The Happy Tower 

opened and Mr. O’Rourke came out. So of course 
Judy had to finish her sentence! 

66 —About Patricia’s being born on S-Saint P-Pat- 
rick’s Day!” she sputtered. 

So it was that Mr. O’Rourke heard Judy finish her 
sentence. And once again Cynthia did not have the 
joy of being the first to impart “odd news” and “ex¬ 
citing news.” 

Mr. O’Rourke’s face broke into a broad grin. 

“Glory be—now you don’t say! What beautiful 
news!” He stepped back into the doorway again, and 
shouted lustily, “Mother! Come quick this minute. 
Hear this grand news, these two proud little girls 
have to tell this beautiful Saint Patrick’s Day morn- 
ing!” 

“Girls!” Cynthia thought a little crossly. “He 
means just Judy. I never once told it first.” 

“Come in! Come in!” Mr. O’Rourke invited them, 
with a large sweep of his arms. Then he put one 
big paw of a hand on Cynthia’s shoulder and one 
on Judy’s and led them into the apartment. 

“My goodness! My! My!” Mrs. O’Rourke kept 
saying over and over. “Think of it! A Patricia born 
on Saint Patrick’s Day. Just think of it. She will be 
blessed all of her days, I feel sure. Just you two sit 
down and wait a bit. I’ll give you a handful of little 
green candies to celebrate. They are for my party 
tonight.” 



Exciting News 17 

Cynthia and Judy needed no second invitation. If 
the truth were known, it was what they fully expected 
might happen. They had not, of course, been able to 
guess that the color of the candies might be an appro¬ 
priate green —but they had been more than hopeful, 
when they started downstairs, that there would be 
candies. 

Cynthia sat herself primly on the edge of a chair, 
and felt very important. Her gray eyes were bright 
and glowing, and she had quite forgotten that Judy 
had spoiled her fun at being the first to tell the 
“news.” 

“We had to tell you, Mr. O’Rourke,” Cynthia 
spoke with dignity (her eyes, however, still on the 
door through which Mrs. O’Rourke would appear 
with those handfuls of candy). “We thought if we 
didn’t you’d think Patricia was—” 

“A cat!” Judy burst out excitedly. “She squeals 
like one.” 

Cynthia turned her eyes from the doorway, with 
its visions of green Saint Patrick’s Day candies, and 
glared at her sister. Once more indignation swept 
over her. It wasn’t fair! She was eight and Judy was 
only four and a half. Judy should let her at least 
finish telling the news, even if she hadn’t given her a 
chance to begin it. 

“Well, here you are, children! And my, my, aren’t 
you proud? Think of it—a baby sister named Patricia 


18 The Happy Tower 

born on Saint Patrick’s day.” And Mrs. O’Rourke let 
lovely, little emerald green gumdrops trickle from 
her big generous hands, first into Cynthia’s and then 
into Judy’s. The girls took good care to use both 
their hands—to make as big a cup as possible. 

“Now how many of you are there?” Mrs. O’Rourke 
spoke as though to herself. “Let me see—there’s the 
baby boy, Michael—he’s two—then you, Judy—then 
David, he must be six. And Cynthia’s eight! Five 
in all, including this grand new one. Three girls— 
two boys—beautiful!” 

“Judy isn’t the baby any more,” Cynthia com¬ 
mented as she eyed her sister. Judy wouldn’t like 
her saying that, but she didn’t care. 

“I hope you won’t be leaving us or moving away 
from that apartment now there are five children,” 
Mr. O’Rourke said, as though he meant it from the 
bottom of his heart. Which he did at the minute, 
because it was a beautiful bright Saint Patrick’s Day 
and he felt very kindly toward the whole world. 
Tomorrow he might not mean it at all. Children 
could be pesky, as well he knew, and five children 
in one apartment was an alarming thought. 

He smiled as he said goodbye, putting one of his 
big hands on Cynthia’s lovely head of light brown 
curls, and pulling one of Judy’s stubby little braids 
of yellow hair. “Now be sure to tell your mother 
for me that Patricia is going to be blessed. She will 




Exciting News 19 

have the curls of Cynthia and the two blue Killarney 
Lakes for eyes like Judy here. The top of the morn¬ 
ing to you!” 

In no time at all, or so it seemed to Mr. and Mrs. 
Abbott, little Patty was toddling—and then running 
and skipping. In fact, she was over three years old. 
And of course, three and a half years had also been 
added to Cynthia’s, David’s, Judy’s and Michael’s 
ages. They were now eleven, nine, seven and a half 
and five. And the entire Abbott family, all seven of 
them, still lived in the apartment, in which Patty 
had been born. The apartment had not grown one 
bit bigger—in fact, it really hadn’t changed its size 
at all. But it seemed —oh so very, very much smaller! 

Every Sunday morning now, Mrs. Abbott laid away 
the sections of the Sunday newspapers whose pages 
were labeled Real Estate . And while her five chil¬ 
dren lay flat on their stomachs in the middle of the 
living room absorbed into a breathless, rare quiet 
over the “funnies,” she read up and down long col¬ 
umns with an increasingly heavy heart. Yes, she had 
to admit, they must begin to make plans for moving 
into the country. But what would it be like? She 
had never lived out of the city in her life. 

There was one other person in the apartment, who 
was doing a great deal of gloomy thinking about the 
possibility of moving—Delia. Delia had come to the 


20 The Happy Tower 

Abbotts over eleven years ago, just before Cynthia 
was born. She had never lived with any other family 
in America but the Abbotts. And she, too, loved the 
city. She was used to it, and what was of far more 
importance, her only friends in America worked for 
people in a nearby apartment. She felt she would be 
lost, miserable and lonely outside of the city. And 
the more she considered the possibility, the more 
certain she was that she preferred going back to Ire¬ 
land on the next boat rather than risk it. 

“Sure and that’s what I’ll do!” Delia informed 
Patty, who was standing on a chair beside the iron¬ 
ing board, watching the shining, silvery iron go 
swiftly, skillfully up and down, in and out of her 
own small dress. “Sure, and I will that, I will go 
right back to the old country.” Delia’s brogue was, 
even after eleven years, rich and thick. 

Patty clutched her doll, “Winkie Blinkie,” very 
tight. Winkie Blinkie had been so christened when 
she was young and lovely and had two bright eyes 
that winked and blinked. Now she had only one eye, 
and it neither winked nor blinked but stared glassily 
straight ahead. Patty’s own hazel eyes, too, were 
solemn, as she bobbed her head up and down in 
agreement with Delia’s announcement. 

“Go back to the old country,” she repeated with 
a brogue, at the moment nearly as thick as Delia’s 
own. Mrs. Abbott was often a little alarmed at the 


Exciting News 21 

brogue with which her baby so frequently spoke. But 
Mr. Abbott thought it the funniest thing in the world. 
He would roar with laughter, when Patty asked for 
“tin cints,” instead of “ten cents!” In fact, from 
sheer delight he was ready to reward her with the 
“tin cints,” when she asked for it. 

Delia at this moment was dragging Patty’s dress 
off the ironing board, with a determined jerk. Make 
no mistake about it, if she was going to the country, 
it would be the old country. No new one for her! The 
green hills of far away Galway were in a beautiful 
hazy mist before her eyes, looking quite as fair and 
as heart-warming as they had that morning when she 
had said goodbye to them. 

“Let me tell ye about the old country, Patty, me 
darlin’—” and tell her she did as she ironed Judy’s 
dress. Patty was enthralled. She never cared much 
what Delia talked about to her when they were alone, 
so long as she talked. And they shared many a secret. 

“David says he won’t be eating anything with 
onions in it, did he?” Delia would say with a wink. 
“Well, we’ve fooled him many and many a time. 
Here we go again.” 

Or! “And yer very smart daddy says, says he, that 
he can’t ate chocolate. It poisons him. But he can 
ate cocoa. So Patty, me darlin’, we are putting cocoa 
frosting on the cake. We’ve been doing it, this long 
time and ye ain’t fatherless yet.” 



22 The Happy Tower 

Patty loved these secrets, for Delia’s face was so 
puckered up with mischief that it made delicious lit¬ 
tle shivers go up and down her spine. Today, how¬ 
ever, Delia’s eyes were not filled with mischief. There 
was a strange, sweet sadness in them and Patty shared 
it with her. She continued to hold Winkie Blinkie 
close to her small warm body and nodded her head 
up and down like a little nodding mandarin. And 
she agreed from the bottom of her loyal loving heart 
with everything Delia said. 

“You know I love ye, Patty—but Michael’s me 
baby. I can’t—” Delia wiped her arm across her eyes. 
Ireland was shut out. It was there before her no 
longer—all she saw now was a round, solemn little 
face with stiff, straight, sandy hair sticking up in funny 
little wisps from the forehead. Little sandy-haired, 
pug-nosed Michael was her baby—and sure, she 
loved him with her whole heart and soul, that she 
did. Could she say goodbye to him? 

“Patty darlin’, I am after thinking I’ll be going 
with ye to the new country when you go, and not back 
to the old country,” she spoke sadly—her expression 
quite woe-begone. Patty nodded her head again, her 
own expression quite as forlorn as Delia’s. Delia’s 
heart was touched at the wistful little face near her 
own. She at once reproached herself. Patty did take 
things to heart so! 





Exciting News 23 

“Sure and ye mustn’t mind if Michael’s me baby 
boy—ye are me baby girl. And I am not leaving ye 
nor the whole of ye either—no matter where ye go.” 
She caught Patty to her, gave her a hug and jumped 
her down to the floor. 

It was only a very short time after this that the 
actual moving to the country was upon them. After 
all the rumblings, like thunder in the distance on a 
sultry day, the storm appeared directly over head. 
Cynthia, David, Judy and Michael had left for school, 
and Mr. Abbott had gone off to business (at last) after 
mislaying everything he wanted to take with him for 
the day—mislaying and finding, and mislaying all 
over again. And Mrs. Abbott had sat down at the 
breakfast table for another cup of coffee, like mil¬ 
lions of mothers do all over the land in the city—or 
out of it. She had to—simply had to—catch her 
breath. 

Then it was that Delia brought her a batch of let¬ 
ters which the mail man had just left. The top one 
was post-marked Chicago. 

“Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, my goodness!” Mrs. 
Abbott sighed after she had read it. Then she stared 
ahead of her in dismay and absent-mindedly removed 
a knife from Patty’s hand, with which her small daugh¬ 
ter was drawing designs with furious force on the 
table cloth. 




24 


The Happy Tower 

“Glory be to heaven!” Delia exclaimed fearfully. 
“Sure and what might it be? You’re like a piece of 
paper, that white.” 

“It’s from my mother—this letter,” Mrs. Abbott 
faltered. She scarcely heard Delia. She was talk¬ 
ing to herself. 

“She’s not passed on?” Delia cheerfully suggested 
the worst—to have it over with promptly. “Poor 
Mis’ Wilton. Poor Peter will miss her. The poor 
lad.” 

“She hardly would be writing me that she had 
died—” Mrs. Abbott smiled faintly. 

“It can’t be Peter himself, could it now? Your 
mother would be broken-hearted that she would—after 
having him since he was a baby,” Delia persisted, 
loathe to give up a tragedy. Peter was Mrs. Abbott’s 
twelve year old nephew. 

“No, Peter is very well, apparently, but also very 
unhappy. My mother says he is lonely at the board¬ 
ing school where she sent him. His letters are pa¬ 
thetic. He doesn’t complain—” she added hastily, lest 
Delia condemn Peter for whining. “It’s just that his 
letters come too often, and are much, much too loving. 
That is what is worrying her.” 

“Worrying her—” Delia echoed as she disen¬ 
tangled Patty from the cord on the coffee percolator. 

“You know, Delia!” her mistress now continued, 
“twelve year old boys never really like writing letters 


Exciting News 25 

—they have to be driven to doing it. Yet Peter is 
writing Mother every other day—and in every letter 
he tells how good and kind she’s been to him, and 
how much he loves her, and that he’s going to grow 
up and make lots of money for her some day, so 
she will never have to work again. Of course, this 
is worrying Mother to death—she knows he is not 
happy—” 

“Glory be—!” Delia’s face was blank as the side 
of the wall. This didn’t make sense. Fancy worrying 
one’s head off—because a boy said he loved you, 
every other day! And she leaned over and grabbed 
Patty’s hands which were now hovering over the 
electric toaster. 

“The child is possessed upon destroying herself 
this morning!” she stormed. “Sure, and she gets 
mornings like this every so often. I am expecting 
any day now to find her crawling into the oven with 
the roast beef.” 

“Yes—!” Mrs. Abbott’s mind was far removed 
from Patty. Anyway if Patty did crawl into the 
oven, Delia would be on hand to save her. She could 
count on Delia in any emergency about the house— 
from finding her pocket book (which she mislaid at 
an average of twice an hour all day) to rescuing 
her children in any crisis. Once each day she said 
to herself, “What on earth would I do without Delia?” 

“Delia!” Mrs. Abbott burst out suddenly after a 







26 The Happy Tower 

few minutes of silence. ‘‘Delia, it’s come at last, 
there’s no escaping from it now.” 

“ Escaping , from what?” Delia’s eyes opened wide 
with some alarm but more hope. Perhaps, after all, 
this letter of Mrs. Abbott’s would have some really 
exciting or distressing news. It had seemed so at first, 
and it would be too bad if it fell flat in the end. 
“Escape” was a word that was always linked with 
some calamity, even if past. 

“Peter will have to come and live with us—and we 
will have to move, Delia!” Mrs. Abbott paused, then 
went on slowly and deliberately, “We will have to 
move out of the city. Into the country, Delia.” Delia 
nodded her head. “Sure and that ye will—the whole 
of ye! I have seen that coming this long time now.” 

“Six children couldn’t live happily in this apart¬ 
ment—they just couldn’t—” Mrs. Abbott went on, as 
though Delia hadn’t spoken. 

“That they couldn’t!” Delia spoke emphatically. 
“And if you should ask me, five of them is making 
a holy horror of it right now. That new superin¬ 
tendent was complaining to me this very morning 
about Michael.” Delia’s eyes snapped. “Michael— 
the poor baby, no less! He left his little velocipede 
for one minute in the doorway, and that Mr. Arnold 
on the sixth floor picks that very minute to go stone 
blind, and he fell over it. Sure, from one end of 
the day to the other it’s complaints, first this, then 


Eocciting News 27 

that—! Get out of the city, I say, and good riddance 
to it.” Delia’s heart was a little heavy, but it was 
loyal and stout. She could see Mrs. Abbott had no 
choice whatsoever, and she would stand by her no 
matter what pang it might cost her. 

“I could never refuse my mother anything, Delia 
—not anything. She only ‘hoped’ it would be pos¬ 
sible for me to take Peter—but she says she knows 
it would be impossible—” 

“Not at all, at all! Sure, and ye should write her 
at once, that ye were thinking this long time of moving 
to the country, and ye want Peter—what’s one more 
child more or less, when ye have five.” 

Mrs. Abbott looked full into Delia’s loyal face, and 
felt a lump in her throat. “That’s good of you, 
Delia!” she cried, swallowing hard against the lump. 
“What ever would I do without you!” 

“Do without me!” Delia cried out appalled. “Ye 
will never go without me. I’ve been thinking this 
long while, how I’d like the country. I could turn 
the children loose out of doors—sure they wouldn’t 
be under me feet all day. When’s Peter coming?” 
she went on brusquely. 

Mrs. Abbott smiled faintly. 

“I will have to speak to Mr. Abbott about it. 
I—” she hesitated. “Oh, I don’t know what he will 
say—” she added hurriedly. 

“I know what he ought to be saying,” Delia put 



28 


The Happy Tower 

in promptly. Delia never hesitated when it came to 
expressing her opinion. 

Mrs. Abbott laughed. Delia did rule them all! 

“Oh, Mr. Abbott himself, I think, like you, Delia, 
has been feeling this long time that we will have 
to leave the city.” 

Delia nodded emphatically. “Whenever Peter came 
here to stay a few days, him and Judy was forever 
into a squabble. This apartment is too small for the 
likes of them. They need a broad, wide, green, open 
stretch of fields.” 

Mrs. Abbott laughed lightly. How easily it was 
coming to be now—this thought of the “country.” 

“It is below Peter’s sense of importance and twelve- 
year-old dignity to be bossed all over the place by 
a small seven-and-a-half-year-old—and a girl at that!” 

“And Judy’s going to be boss—no matter what. 
Sure, she’s bringing up the family—” 

“Cynthia will be delighted—she and Peter love to 
show off to each other how much they read and how 
much they know—” Mrs. Abbott was actually feel¬ 
ing almost light-hearted. “Oh, Delia, maybe this is 
the happiest news I’ve had in a long time and maybe 
it will all turn out for the best—” 

“Sure, and it will that,” Delia agreed sturdily, her 
own heart not growing lighter, but heavier now that 
leaving the city was upon them, without a doubt. “It’s 
the right and sensible thing ye be doing, and make 
no mistake about it.” 




David 

II 


~ House Hunting ~ 

“Now I want you to be very good and very quiet 
tonight at the table—that is if you want to eat in 
the dining room with Daddy and me—otherwise you 
will be sent right out to the kitchen to eat. I have a 
very, very important matter to talk over with Daddy 
—and I don’t want him too tired to hear it properly,” 
Mrs. Abbott warned solemnly. 

It had been a long established custom in the Abbott 
household to break important or distressing news to 
Mr. Abbott after he had his dinner. The children 
were always warned not to meet him at the door shout¬ 
ing calamities. The “news” was always given to him 
gently later on, once he had peacefully and happily 

29 




30 The Happy Tower 

settled himself into his own particular chair for the 
evening—for a pleasant and restful evening—with 
his family. 

Five pairs of eyes were fastened on their mother’s 
face. Patty bobbed her head up and down vigor¬ 
ously. She knew that her mother’s tone meant some¬ 
thing that was very serious. The other four felt 
this too, but each one was also a little worried. Cyn¬ 
thia and Judy were wondering if it was about the 
woman on the first floor who had that very afternoon 
asked them for goodness sakes couldn’t they find any¬ 
where in the whole city to roller skate but up and 
down and up and down in front of her windows? 
David remembered now, all too painfully, that he 
had actually shouted defiance at the door man, who 
had asked him please to be a little more quiet. He 
knew with a leaden feeling that this was a very serious 
matter to his parents. As for Michael—it had taken 
him almost all day to recover from the crash, clat¬ 
ter and uproar when Mr. Arnold had fallen over his 
velocipede. Michael didn’t understand the actual 
words that Mr. Arnold had hurled at him at the 
top of the loudest voice that one could imagine, but 
there was no mistaking their terrible and awful 
meaning. 

That night Mr. Abbott sat down at the dinner table 
with a sinking heart. What was the matter with the 
family? He looked up from under his heavy eye- 


House Hunting 31 

brows and sharply glanced up and down the table. 
He “counted noses”—they were all there, thank good¬ 
ness, even Michael’s with its everlasting bump on 
the end of it. Michael was always scraping off the 
end of his nose—usually just before he was to be 
shown off with the others to company. One, two, three, 
four, five shining faces, and well-combed heads of 
hair. Five mouths, which opened only to put food 
into them. What on earth! To top it all, the children 
left the dining room with Delia the minute the meal 
was over—without saying one single word. 

“Now if that isn’t enough to shatter my nervous 
system, what is?” he asked himself glumly. “It was 
never so before—but once. That was the time Michael 
threw my gold watch out of the window. Whatever 
it is tonight—it’s going to be a lulu!” 

“Well,” he repeated and made a feeble attempt 
to be funny. “Well, well, it’s good to sit down for 
the first time today.” 

This was to tease his wife. It was what she said, 
almost every night! 

Mrs. Abbott, with only a faint smile, took out her 
mother’s letter and read it. 

“Whew—!” Mr. Abbott drew a long deep breath 
of fervent thankfulness, when she had finished read¬ 
ing. So it was only this! 

“I do think we ought to take Peter to live with us. 
I feel we ought to—” his wife concluded in a rush. 





32 


The Happy Tower 

“Of course, of course! And why not I’d like to 
know? The more the merrier. I always said I wanted 
a mob of children around me if I could afford it. 
Write your mother at once—and tell her to ship Peter 
to us on the next train—” 

“We are pretty crowded in this apartment, Tom—” 
Mrs. Abbott spoke slowly. “And you know, we are 
not going to find it easy to get another one big enough 
for us. This one is one of the old-fashioned, big apart¬ 
ments, but one any bigger will be worse than old 
fashioned, or far, far, beyond our pocket book.” 

“I heartily agree with you, my dear!” Mr. Abbott 
fairly roared with relief; “I am sick and tired of 
being cramped up in a few rooms. What a life for 
children!” Then quite forgetting his frequent as¬ 
sertion that his children were the most healthy in the 
city, he declared, “The poor youngsters are sickly 
looking and pasty. I’ve noticed it myself. Those two 
weeks at Sandy Beach in the summer are not enough 
for them. They have got to have fresh air. And I 
like fresh air, myself. You know that! 

“Look at Cynthia, look at her. Peaked! Pipe stem 
legs! Come to think of it, this apartment is good 
enough only for big dogs, little dogs and middle-sized 
dogs. And our neighbors will cordially agree, judg¬ 
ing by the complaints. We are going to move—and we 
are going to move out of the city. I say, it’s fine 
having Peter come to live with us, he’s more like a 




House Hunting 33 

brother than a cousin. Makes it more even—three 
boys and three girls. It will just be another son. I’ve 
always liked Peter—fine little fellow!” 

This was how Mr. Abbott made the decision to 
move away from the city. And since he never did 
anything by halves, there was no wavering after he 
once made up his mind. 

6 ‘Write to your mother tomorrow morning and tell 
her we are going to move, and as quickly as we can. 
Tell her to take Peter out of that school at once. 
Maybe, he’s being starved or badly treated—” 

“I don’t think it’s that,” Mrs. Abbott said quietly 
and reasonably. “Peter misses the excitement of 
traveling about with Mother. It was an exciting life. 
But he does like it here with us—because ours—” she 
smiled, “is also an exciting life.” 

Cynthia followed her mother around the next morn¬ 
ing, it being a Saturday—from room to room, getting 
constantly under foot and in the way. She had so 
many questions to ask. Indeed, she had not gone to 
sleep for a long, long time the night before. She must 
know the answers as soon as possible, and what Cyn¬ 
thia wanted to know, she never hesitated to ask. She 
had an enormous curiosity about things. Just now, 
she wanted to hear more and more and more about 
Peter’s exciting life. But Mrs. Abbott was very ab¬ 
sent-minded—her thoughts were filled with the pos¬ 
sibilities of moving and with Peter’s arrival. She 


34 


The Happy Tower 

didn’t mind, however, answering Cynthia’s endless 
questions—up to a point. So up to this point, Cyn¬ 
thia made the most of her questions. 

“Mother, why does Peter travel with Grandma all 
the time? She never takes me. I’d love it!” 

“Because!” Mrs. Abbott was looking frantically 
for the top of David’s pajamas. Why must he scat¬ 
ter things so! “Because, you have a home, a mother 
and a father. Peter has no home—no mother nor a 
father. I am going to speak to David about his 
pajamas—he must stop flinging them around this 
way.” 

“What happened to Peter’s father and mother?” 
Cynthia persisted, although she had heard the story 
many times. 

“Peter’s father was my big brother, Peter. He 
was your Uncle Peter. But he was your uncle for 
only one year—and then he died. Peter was two years 
old. And his mother had died when he was only one 
month old. Poor little Peter.” Mrs. Abbott’s eyes 
were misty. 

Cynthia sighed deeply—and a little contentedly. 
It was so very sweet and sad! 

“Poor Peter,” she echoed. 

“Yes, Poor Peter!” Mrs. Abbott had given up the 
search for David’s pajama tops and was looking for 
the mate to one of Michael’s socks. “But not too 
poor! Grandma took him with her and made him 



House Hunting 35 

her little boy. She has taken the most loving care 
of him all these years.” 

“Grandma’s never had a home—and so Peter’s 
never had a home—” Cynthia was encouraging her 
mother to go on— 

Mrs. Abbott sat down—and looked ahead of her 
a little sadly. 

“Your grandmother’s been a very, very brave 
woman. You will never meet any braver. You know, 
she brought up me and your Uncle Peter. She 
went on the stage years ago—thirty years or more 
ago, when my father died. It wasn’t easy for her. 
It was very hard—and often lonely. We, Big Peter 
and I, never traveled with her from place to place. 
We were left behind with two sweet old maid aunts— 
Aunt Ella and Aunt Laura. Your grandmother must 
have missed us very much. But we had, Peter and I, 
a lovely childhood. Your grandmother made a big 
success—and was able to do many, many things 
for us.” 

Cynthia’s eyes were huge—her lips parted breath¬ 
lessly. 

“Was Grandma a great actress? Was she famous?” 

“Yes, she was—and is. Not the greatest perhaps, 
nor the most famous—but still great and famous 
enough. And she was very beautiful when she was 
younger. Some day, I’ll show you the newspaper 
notices about her —we have books and books of 





36 


The Happy Tower 

them—” Mrs. Abbott jumped to her feet. “Not now, 
Cynthia, I can see you are going to ask for them 
this minute. Please remember this is Saturday morn¬ 
ing and Delia and I are up to our necks in work. 
Have you made your bed?” 

Cynthia squirmed impatiently. Have you made 
your bed? Right in the middle of these lovely mem¬ 
ories! 

“But Peter wasn’t too poor or sad, Mother!” Close 
upon her heels, Cynthia followed her mother out of 
the boys’ bedroom. “He’s had an exciting life.” 

“Exciting perhaps—but not the best kind of life, 
Cynthia, for any boy. He had too much attention. 
Why, he’s even been interviewed. Newspaper people 
have come and asked him what he thought of this or 
that! Just as though it mattered to thousands of people. 
That isn’t good for any small boy.” 

“Like the movie stars!” Cynthia exclaimed. “I 
think that is positively thrilling. What did they ask 
him?” 

“Oh, Cynthia, please keep out from under foot. 
I don’t remember. Oh, yes—how do you like travel¬ 
ing from city to city with your grandmother? Isn’t 
it an easy way to learn the geography of the United 
States? Do you like big cities or small towns? Do 
you like road companies—or staying in one town in 
a stock company? I saw that interview and I must say, 
it tried me a bit. How could it help but make Peter 
feel too, too important? Cynthia Abbott, do you call 



House Hunting 37 

that making a bed!” Mrs. Abbott was standing in 
Cynthia’s doorway. 

Cynthia’s eyes blinked fast—but her thoughts raced 
faster—they were faster than her answer to her moth¬ 
er’s comment on her bed making. 

“What is a stock company? And what’s a road 
company?” 

Mrs. Abbott’s own thoughts this morning were a 
little helter-skelter. Now she forgot Cynthia’s bed 
making. “Well, a road company takes one play from 
city to city. They play the same play every week— 
but go to a new place. When Grandma was with a 
road company, Peter couldn’t, of course, go to school. 
He couldn’t enroll in a new school each week, you 
see.” 

Cynthia caught her breath. 

“I wouldn’t mind that. I should think Peter would 
love road companies. But how did he learn school 
things?” 

“He had to be tutored. He had to have his lessons, 
Cynthia. Don’t think for one minute he could get 
out of them.” 

Cynthia’s face shadowed. Then she asked, “What’s 
a stock company?” 

“A stock company—why, a stock company plays 
a new play each week, but in the same city or town, 
for months, maybe. Then Peter could go to a school 
every day—just like other children.” 

“Well, if a newspaper asked me which I liked bet- 



38 


The Happy Tower 

ter, a stock company or a road company, I’d say 
road company,” Cynthia answered. Then she opened 
her mouth on another question. 

‘‘Cynthia, don’t ask me one thing more—go and 
find David. Tell him to come to me at once. I want 
to know where the other half of his pajamas is.” 

“Oh, jinks!” Cynthia groaned. “David makes me 
tired. I’ll have to chase all over for him.” 

“I am afraid you will,” Mrs. Abbott returned 
firmly. 

But Cynthia had many more questions running 
around in her head, looking for answers. 

“Mother!” she paused at the door, her hand on its 
knob. She felt if she looked as though she were going 
out for David, it would make her mother hopeful and 
cheerful. “Tell me, isn’t Grandma always the star 
in every play? She’s the heroine, isn’t she?” 

“No!” Mrs. Abbott shook her head with a tender 
little smile. “Not these days, Cynthia. Poor Grandma 
more often than not has to play sweet old ladies, now. 
She says she prefers to play meddlesome, frisky or 
bossy old women—she says it’s more fun! Now, 
Cynthia, scat /” 

And with a deep sigh, Cynthia scatted. 

A few days later Mrs. Abbott gathered her five 
children about her and told them that they were plan¬ 
ning to move away from the city. And as she made 



House Hunting 39 

her announcement, she looked from one face to an¬ 
other and smiled. Funny, surprised, confused little 
faces— 

“Are we going to live at the beach?” Cynthia 
asked, yearning, but uncertain. “Even in winter?” 

“Oh, no!” Mrs. Abbott laughed. “Not the beach! 
What a thought, Cynthia! You know that our various 
little beach cottages have never had furnaces. We 
would freeze to death. We are going to the country 
—to a small town.” 

“Oh boy!” David shouted. “Oh boy! Oh boy!” 

“And I won’t never have to go to school.” Michael’s 
eyes shone. 

“You certainly will—and especially if you say 
‘won’t never.’ You must learn to know to say ‘I won’t 
ever.’ ” Mrs. Abbott touched the tip of Michael’s 
small nose, or rather what was left of it. He had 
just fallen and scraped it again—oh, dear! 

“Will there be cowboys?” David’s brows were 
knit in deep thought. Already he was ahead of his 
question, and was seeing himself riding a bucking 
broncho. 

“Will there be a lot of wild animals out there?” 
Judy asked, her small mouth stiff and her eyes wide 
as saucers. Judy had all the courage in the world 
when it came to ordering people about who were 
twice as big as she was—but none at all when it 
came to strange sights and scenes. At the movies, 


40 


The Happy Tower 

when she was sitting on her seat and not under it, 
she always had her fingers ready to instantly shield 
her eyes, or to pop into her ears at a moment’s notice. 

“I hope so!” said Michael promptly pointing his 
forefinger, and crooking his thumb in an imitation of 
a gun which he aimed at the middle of Judy’s face. 
“Bang! Bang!” he shouted. 

“Listen, children,” Mrs. Abbott protested. “We 
are not taking you to darkest Africa. What’s more, 
where we are going isn’t the real country—it’s going 
to be—” she didn’t know how to express it. 

“Not like the beach?” Cynthia persisted, puzzled. 
She loved their two weeks, each summer at the 
ocean. But what would this “country” be like? “I 
know,” she went on as a bright idea came to her. 
“I’ve seen the country in the movies—chickens, cows 
and things—” 

“Cows!” Judy echoed weakly. “Will there be 
cows? I don’t like cows—” her voice wavered. “I 
hate them.” 

“What could a cow do to you—but buck you with 
its horns?” David asked scornfully. 

“Buck me?” Judy squealed in a thin high squeak. 
“Oh, Mother, don’t let’s go to the country. I like 
animals in cages like at the zoo. I don’t want them 
to get out,” she wailed. “They scare me.” 

“We are not going on a farm, and there won’t be 
any cows, Judy. And, David, stop tormenting her. 



House Hunting 41 

You are going to be very happy and you are all go¬ 
ing to love this kind of country.” 

“Sure, I will love it,” said Patty with a rich brogue. 
“I love the old country!” 

“This country—” Mrs. Abbott went on after they 
had all laughed at Patty (who was proud that she 
had been smart enough to make them laugh). “This 
country—” Mrs. Abbott repeated, “will not be wild 
—nor will it be farming country. In some ways it 
will be like the city. There will be sidewalks, and 
paved streets. But there will also be yards, and little 
green fields to play in—and you can—well—” she 
broke off, not at all sure what they would do. “Any¬ 
way, you are going to love it and you are all going 
to grow even more healthy and rosy. But first your 
father and I are going to decide just where we shall 

go” 

For several weeks, Mrs. Abbott went away early 
every morning. As she opened the door each night 
she announced wearily, “You can’t imagine how 
tired I am!” 

Then Delia was firm indeed. “Be quiet, the whole 
of ye.” 

“Why don’t you try house hunting?” Mrs. Abbott 
asked her husband one night. “After all, you are 
going to live out there somewhere—and you ought 
to see the places I’ve been to!” she added. 

“I’ll trust your judgment, Suzy, my dear,” Mr. 





42 


The Happy Tower 

Abbott said soothingly. “When you have found one 
that suits you, it will suit me—” 

There was no use at all, Mrs. Abbott decided, in 
trying to get her husband to go with her. None at all. 
And maybe it was just as well. He would have taken 
the first place they looked at, in order not to bother 
looking further. And then after they moved there, 
he would hate it. This, that, and the other thing would 
be wrong, and he would never be satisfied. 

At last, Mrs. Abbott opened the door one evening, 
with a tired but happy smile. 

“Children—Delia—I’ve found it,” she called. 
“And tomorrow—I am taking your Daddy out to 
see it!” She tossed her hat on to a table and dropped 
into a chair. Delia and her five children swarmed 
about her. 

“What color is it?” Cynthia asked breathlessly. 
“And how big is it—” 

“It is—well—it was yellow—I think,” her mother 
hesitated. “It has three rooms on the first floor,” 
counting on her fingers, “five and a bath room on 
the second—and two bedrooms and an attic on the 
third—” 

“A what?” Cynthia gasped. She couldn’t believe 
her ears. Had her mother said attic? “Attic” that 
wonderful, fascinating, alluring, fairylike, roman¬ 
tic word—attic. It couldn’t be true! 

“An attic,” Mrs. Abbott repeated. She did not 



House Hunting 43 

notice the enthralled look on her daughter’s face. 
“And it has a front yard—and back yard—two cherry 
trees—an apple tree and some very mangy, beetle- 
eaten rose vines growing over the back porch—” she 
added as an afterthought. 

“I love those roses—” Judy said, drawing in her 
breath. “I can take them to my teacher.” 

Cynthia did not come out of the attic during the 
rest of her mother’s description. She crawled into 
its deep recesses and stayed there. In its mysterious, 
dark corners, she found a hidden will leaving the 
family millions—she found trunks filled with untold 
treasures—an attic! an attic! What a beautiful lovely 
word! Her mother’s voice came to her from far, far 
away— 

“Well, I can’t describe the outside very well. It’s 
not a new house—in fact it’s old fashioned. Not 
quaint at all—just out of date. It has a sort of a 
tower effect on one side.” 

The electric effect of this word “tower” amazed 
Mrs. Abbott. Cynthia sprang to her feet and stood 
before her mother with shining eyes. 

“Tower!” David whooped. “Tower—you mean 
like the Little Lame Prince’s tower? Oh boy, I’ll have 
to get a magic carpet,” and David as nearly as pos¬ 
sible put his words into effect, swooping his hand 
through the air like a flying carpet going at a very 
dangerous and dizzy angle. 



44 


The Happy Tower 

“Oh, Mother!” Cynthia was quivering from head 
to foot with a delicious excitement. “Not a tower! 
Not a real tower room!” 

“That’s right,” Mrs. Abbott repeated amazed, but 
with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Not a real 
tower, Cynthia—nor a real tower room. Actually it 
is only an imitation of one, and not a very good 
one. But—” she broke olf. 

“But what, Mother?” Cynthia pleaded, not to be 
cheated of this enchanted tower room. “But what, 
Mother? Isn’t it any kind of tower, at all?” 

“Yes,” Mrs. Abobtt admitted slowly. “It is one 
kind of tower, Cynthia, any kind you want to call 
it. But I’d call it rather—dinky.” 

“Oh, I’ll love it just the way it is. I’ll love it! 
An attic and tower in one house—” Cynthia sighed 
happily. Then returning to her corner, she curled 
up in her favorite chair. She wanted to dream about 
“attics” and “towers.” Magic words! 



Ill 



. 1 } 


k 


1 

VU 




~ Thermometers ~ 

Mr. Abbott flew from one extreme to the other 
with the greatest of ease, like the man on the flying 
trapeze. Only a short time ago, the city was the 
only place in the world to live. Now it was the coun¬ 
try! Of course, he liked the house Mrs. Abbott had 
picked out—it was perfect. And every night he came 
home with a new idea for their house out in the 
“country.” 

“Look what I have,” he would shout. 

The children would gather around him in great 
excitement. But almost every time they were puz¬ 
zled. Daddy did think of the strangest things! 

A week after it was definitely settled that they were 
to move out into the small town of “Elwood,” he 
walked into the apartment, his face beaming more 
happily than ever, if that were possible. From the 
little black bag he always carried (the one that made 


45 




46 


The Happy Tower 

people take him for a doctor but which usually con¬ 
tained some letters he never had time to read in his 
office, whole sections of newspapers he wanted to re¬ 
read, and a few apples bought on the way home to 
eat before going to bed) he tenderly removed a small 
bundle. 

“Now guess—” he held it up for his family to see. 
“In this package I have something that is going to 
bring me the greatest joy and comfort—when we get 
to the country.” 

There was no answer for a few minutes—the chil¬ 
dren had “guessed” so often and hoped so much 
from these bundles he had been bringing home lately 
that they were afraid that they would be disappointed 
again. And they were. Their father proudly laid 
four thermometers on the dining room table. 

“Good gracious!” was all Mrs. Abbott could say. 

“One for the front door, one for the back, one for 
the living room, and one for my bedroom. I am 
going to know exactly how hot or cold it is outdoors. 
I am never going to be hot again. This apartment is 
beastly—it’s unhealthy—it’s abominable. We are 
going to have health first of all when we go out to 
Elwood.” 

Michael poked his small nose over the top of the 
table, and decided that he never had seen anything 
so uninteresting as this “health.” 

“Of all things!” Mrs. Abbott exclaimed. 


Thermometers 


47 


“I thought it was going to be a pet,” Judy said wist¬ 
fully. 46 You told us, Daddy, that we could have pets 
when we got to the country—” 

At this minute Delia called Mrs. Abbott out into 
the kitchen, and it was well she did, for had Mrs. 
Abbott heard the conversation that followed, she would 
certainly have protested. 

“So I did! So I did! And you are going to have 
pets. All children should have pets, but not in an 
apartment. Now then, what pets do you want?” He 
sat down, eyeing his thermometers lovingly. What an 
inspiration it had been to buy them! 

“Now, one at a time!” he commanded, as his five 
children crowded about him. “And take it easy. 
Don’t push! I want this list right. There won’t be 
any returns, if there are mistakes,” he grinned 
broadly. He was in rare, high spirits these days. 
Taking a notebook from his pocket, he prepared to 
write. “This is going to be systematically done— 
everything in its proper place. Cynthia first—she’s 
the oldest. Now, Cynthia, what kind of pet do you 
want?” 

“Oh, Daddy, I want a—kitten. Just a little gray 
kitten.” 

“Fine! One, gray kitten,” he wrote down. “Now 
you, David.” 

“A goat”—David announced firmly, and in a loud 
tone. “And a goat wagon.” 



48 


The Happy Tower 

Mr. Abbott moistened his pencil in his mouth, then 
stared at his older son over the rims of his eyeglasses. 

“Where is your mother?” he asked. “She can’t 
be in the room. I hear no comment from her.” 

“She isn’t here, she’s out with Delia,” Cynthia 
answered promptly. “Do you think Mother would 
like a goat?” 

“Well,” Mr. Abbott began cautiously. “You 
couldn’t possibly change that goat order to some¬ 
thing a little more cosy to have about a house, could 
you, David?” 

“No!” David rejected this suggestion with scorn. 
“I want a goat and a goat wagon,” he repeated 
firmly. 

“And I want to ride in David’s goat wagon,” 
Michael chirped, eyeing his brother jealously. He 
wished he had been big enough and smart enough 
to think of a goat wagon. 

Mr. Abbott drew in his breath sharply, then let 
it out with a long whizz. 

“It’s not your turn, Mike, my boy. Judy comes 
next. Judy, and what would you like? Anything 
short of a camel.” 

Judy’s round blue eyes were shining like stars. 
“All I want is a bunny. I want two bunnies.” 

“One for each hand,” Patty nodded. 

There was a shout of laughter at this. 


Thermometers 49 

“She’s thinking of cookies, Daddy, she always 
wants one for each hand,” Cynthia explained. 

“Two bunnies, one for each hand,” Mr. Abbott 
read aloud as he wrote. “Now, Michael, it’s your 
turn.” 

“I want to ride in David’s g-goat wagon,” Michael 
stuttered. “A ride in David’s goat wagon—that’s 
what I want,” he repeated. 

“So—!” Mr. Abbott whistled. “You are going to 
put up a solid front about that goat, are you?” 

“I bet Mother will hate that goat,” Cynthia com¬ 
mented. 

Patty was quivering from head to foot, waiting 
her turn, and her eyes were blinking very fast. 

“Ah, Patricia, what do you want?” And her father 
pulled her up on his lap. 

“I want a kitten, a goat wagon, and a bunny for 
each hand,” and she put her chubby hands over her 
mouth and rocked with delicious glee. 

“No duplications, my pet. But your laughter makes 
me realize you have more good common sense than 
all of us put together. I fear a few snags and 
complications.” Mr. Abbott was watching the door 
through which his wife might enter at any moment. 

“And, Daddy, what pet do you want?” Cynthia 
asked earnestly. “You’ve always said you loved ani¬ 
mals.” 


50 The Happy Tower 

“Well—” he looked from face to face with an 
apologetic air. “I trust you won’t mind if I say that 
you’ve overlooked the best pet of them all. Not that 
I don’t think you have shown excellent taste. But 
I, myself, however, would like a dog. I’ve always 
wanted one, but a city apartment is not, I feel, the 
best place in the world for one.” He picked up his 
notebook again. “I am writing down my own order. 
P.O.D. wants a D.O.G. How do you like that?” 

“What’s P.O.D.? What’s that?” they chorused. 

“Poor old dad,” he said, closing his book with 
a flourish. “That will be all for tonight.” 

But “that will be all” meant less than nothing, 
apparently. 

“What kind of dog?” Judy asked. 

“Well, I hadn’t given it very serious considera¬ 
tion—” And Mr. Abbott picked up his newspaper. 

But Judy persisted in an anxious voice, “What 
kind, Daddy?” 

“Well, a watch dog!” he returned good naturedly, 
as he flipped his paper into shape. “That’s what we’ll 
need.” 

Judy eyed her father nervously. “What for? 
What’s a watch dog for?” 

“Oh, to keep tramps from poking their noses in 
at our back door.” 

“Oh—o—o!” Judy squealed fearfully. 

“What on earth bit you?” her father asked in blank 



Thermometers 


51 


amazement. “Don’t tell me you object to my pet.” 

“Judy’s afraid of dogs, Daddy,” Cynthia told him. 
“She pinches me black and blue when one comes near 
us on the street.” 

Mr. Abbott laid down his paper. “Well, now, Judy, 
you are going to like my watch dog. It’s going to be 
a gentle friend, as far as you are concerned. It will 
love you. You wait and see.” 

Judy walked toward her father slowly. 

“Daddy, I hate the country,” she burst out trem¬ 
ulously. 

“For the love of Pete!” Mr. Abbott fervently hoped 
his wife wouldn’t come in at this minute. “What’s 
the matter? You were all eagerness a few minutes 
ago. You wanted two bunnies, and they have not 
been refused.” 

“I don’t like tramps poking their noses in at our 
back door—” she wailed, a little wildly. 

“My word!” And Mr. Abbott listened nervously 
to the steps coming down the hall. This was a pretty 
pickle! His wife would think he had been frightening 
the children just before bedtime. But his face cleared 
when he saw Delia in the doorway. And when his eyes 
lit on her hair, he smiled broadly. In celebration of 
their moving, Delia had gotten a “permanent,” a most 
extraordinary one. From the roots of her hair to the 
ends was a mass of wriggling little spiral curls, which 
stuck out like ringlets of fine wire. 


52 The Happy Tower 

Mr. Abbott beamed. Then he tweaked one of Judy’s 
short pigtails. “Look, Judy! Look at Delia’s hair. 
No wonder I want a watch dog! We can’t have hand¬ 
some tramps poking their noses in at our back door, 
and stealing away our beautiful Delia.” 

Judy turned and stared at Delia. Then her face 
cleared. 

“Ah, go on with ye!” Delia protested with a rosy 
blush and a self-conscious grin. “Don’t ye be believ¬ 
ing one word yer daddy be telling ye, now. Sure, 
and he’s quite a hand at fairy tales.” 

Mr. Abbott watched Judy’s face out of the corner 
of one eye, and he breathed a sigh of relief at the 
dimple that was beginning to play in one cheek. 
“Thanks be to goodness!” he thought to himself. “You 
never know where you are going to end up, when 
you begin amusing children. You can only be sure 
it’s the very last spot in the world you might expect 
to be.” 

“Come on, now!” Delia ordered in a soft, pleased 
tone. “The whole of ye, and off to bed.” 

Cynthia instantly let out an indignant protest. Go¬ 
ing to bed at the same time as Patty! Patty was only 
three and she was eleven! 

“Now, now,” Delia laid one hand on Cynthia’s head 
of light brown curls. “Ye can be helping me get the 
others off first. Ye will be the last one in bed, Cynthy. 
No one wants to be getting into that country more 


Thermometers 53 

than ye do, and yer mother and me is up to our necks 
packing chinaware.” 

Cynthia yielded with a smile. As long as she would 
be the last in bed, it was all right. And she did like 
to get to bed these days, to lie awake—imagining 
that attic and that tower room. They were the last 
things she thought of at night, and the first things 
she thought of in the morning. 

“Cynthy is always so sensible, that she is,” Delia 
smiled over at Mr. Abbott. “She’s got a head on her. 
Now, the whole of ye, kiss yer Daddy goodnight—” 

As each of the children kissed him, Mr. Abbott put 
a finger to his lips, in warning gesture. “Mum’s the 
word about those pets,” he whispered. 

Cynthia leaned over her father’s chair and kissed 
him on the top of the head. 

“You know, Delia—” Mr. Abbott looked across 
at Delia with a wry expression, “I don’t know what 
I am going to do about it—but Cynthia’s worn a spot 
of hair off on the top of my head, with her kisses.” 

“Oh, go on with ye!” Delia giggled. “Her kisses 
are only butterfly kisses—that light.” 

“You wait, Delia!” And Mr. Abbott sighed so 
deeply and made such a forlorn face, that the chil¬ 
dren giggled with Delia. “Cynthia’s going to bring 
on premature baldness. If this keeps up, I am going 
to look like a billiard ball, north of my forehead.” 

Just as Judy crawled into bed, ahead of Cynthia, 



54 


The Happy Tower 

she whispered in a husky little voice, “Cynthia, are 
there kindhearted tramps?” 

“Oh goodness!” Cynthia was annoyed. She had 
been just ready to steal away into her attic. To¬ 
night, she felt sure, she would find something excit¬ 
ing there. Perhaps jewels belonging to an exiled 
princess— 

“You are such a scared-cat, Judy. Daddy was only 
teasing about the tramp. Tramps are in songs. Don’t 
you know—‘Tramp, tramp, the boys are marching.’ 
Think about your bunnies, and don’t bother me.” 

Judy thought of nothing at all. She went straight 
to sleep, while Cynthia lay beside her weaving the 
loveliest story she had yet imagined. That is, as 
lovely a story as could be when it was over and for¬ 
gotten in exactly eleven minutes. 

The next afternoon, Michael burst into the kitchen 
with a howl. 

“Davy says he won’t let me go in his goat wagon, 
if I don’t lend him my red tractor—the one Grandma 
gave me.” 

Delia was standing on a chair taking down glass¬ 
ware from the top shelf. “What’s all the fuss about 
now?” she demanded. 

“Davy says Peter’s the only one he’s going to let 
in his goat wagon!” 

“What’s this goat wagon ye got wound up in, I’d 


Thermometers 


55 


be pleased to know? I never heard tell of it! If Davy 
has a goat wagon in that bedroom, I’d like to know 
what he did with the rest of the furniture? It’s that 
crowded already. Go on back and tell him to let ye 
in it, or on it—or over it, and don’t be bothering me. 
Be off with ye.” 

“He says it’s his goat!” Michael wailed. 

“He did, did he? Well it’s mine now. He’s got me 
goat—and ye tell him to give it back to me.” 

“It isn’t your goat!” Michael protested with an¬ 
other long wail. “It was Daddy’s. He said Davy 
could have it.” 

Delia jumped down to the floor. 

“David!” she called sternly. “Come straight here.” 

And when David reluctantly appeared, “What’s all 
this business about goats? What kind of a goat? If 
ye have any kind of a goat in that bedroom, for sweet 
mercy’s sake let Michael play with it until I get this 
top shelf cleared.” 

“I haven’t got a goat in there,” David scowled. “I 
haven’t got a goat anywhere.” 

Delia glared at him. 

“Then I’d like to be knowing this blessed minute, 
what this goat talk is about. Yer goat it is one minute, 
the next Daddy's, then mine! And all the time there 
isn’t a goat anywhere.” 

“Daddy says I can have a goat and a goat wagon 
out in the country,” David told her. 



56 


The Happy Tower 

“And Daddy said I could get in it,” Michael put 
in emphatically. “And David said only Peter could.” 

“Well, yer Daddy does get the ideas, doesn’t he?” 
Delia snorted. “You two go back to that room and 
keep quiet. There’s no goat this afternoon—so neither 
of ye can play with it—” 

“Can’t I ever get in David’s goat wagon?” 

“Sure you can, someday when Sunday comes in the 
middle of the week. Now be olf with ye, and out 
from under foot.” 

“I don’t want to play with David,” Michael sobbed. 
“He’s mean to me.” 

“All right then,” Delia said grimly, “ye can go 
in one room and David can go back to his. The two 
of ye is not going to get together until yer mother 
returns,” and Delia, taking them both by their shoul¬ 
ders, pushed them out of the kitchen and slammed 
the door. 

Then she climbed up on her chair again, talking 
to herself in Gallic. Goats was it? Well, maybe it 
wasn’t too late, she could go back to Ireland yet. 
Goats could rove in the fields in peace, in Ireland. 

Her own tiny room was next to the kitchen, and 
in no time at all, she heard sounds of strife and 
trouble through the wall. Her expression grim and 
determined, she got down off the chair. Then she 
stalked out of the kitchen and opened her door. Judy 
and Patty were in the room with Michael. 


Thermometers 


57 


“ What’s the meaning of this? Me two-by-two room, 
crowded with children. Sure and it isn’t big enough 
to shake a stick in, but I’d like to shake one at this 
minute!” she hinted darkly. 

“Daddy says I could have a goat wagon ride,” 
Patty announced. 

“Michael says David won’t—” Judy began. 

“It’s that goat again, is it!” Delia’s eyes snapped. 
“Well, let me tell ye, this!” And she did. She told 
them this and she told them that , and by the time she 
had finished there was not another “peep” out of 
one of them about that goat. 

The next few days were a little—no, altogether— 
upset. There was so much to be done. Endless rows 
of books had to be packed and crated. Everything, 
in fact, seemed endless, even the arguments, for the 
children refused to part with any of their possessions. 
Every toy they had must go to the country with them! 
Mrs. Abbott begged them to give some of the older 
ones away. But it was the oldest, the most worn ones 
they loved best. 

When he came home at night, Mr. Abbott found 
more things than one could imagine that he declared 
were a “shame” and a “great pity” to throw away. 
He did very little actual packing, in fact he did con¬ 
siderable unpacking. He never missed a belonging 
until it was down at the bottom of a trunk or a box. 



58 


The Happy Tower 

Then nothing would satisfy him until he had it back 
in his hands then and there. But he kept cheerful. 
It was Delia and Mrs. Abbott whose patience was 
tried to the utmost. 

“There’s nothing to do,” Mrs. Abbott groaned once, 
“but to put all Mr. Abbott’s things on top. For as 
sure as fate, he will need them tonight—and not a 
minute later—if we pack them at the bottom of a 
box.” 

“Ye might say,” said Delia glumly, “ye have six 
children—not five. Mr. Abbott’s like one these days 
—the biggest one.” 

It was early in June, and very hot indeed. 

“Now, aren’t you glad you’re going to get out of 
the city?” Mr. Abbott asked every so often, just as 
though moving had been entirely his idea from the 
beginning. “I’m going to have a lot of fun with my 
thermometers. We will know just how much cooler 
it is out in Elwood.” 

“Will I have to stop everything I am doing several 
times a day to look at a thermometer to know how 
much cooler I am?” Mrs. Abbott asked, with a deep 
sigh. 

“And another thing—” her husband went on, ig¬ 
noring her comment. “Don’t wear yourself out dur¬ 
ing these last few days trying to keep the children 
quiet. Let them jump, run and tear about the apart¬ 
ment to their heart’s content. Don’t get upset if you 


Thermometers 


59 


drop a ton of books. Give those folks downstairs an 
idea of what five children could have done, if we 
hadn’t worn ourselves out hushing them. Relax!” 
And he stood up and turned over a packing box with 
a bang that shook the apartment. 

“Relax?” his wife groaned and held her head. 
“That’s just too, too funny!” 

At that moment Delia came rushing into the liv¬ 
ing room. Her face looked very much the way Michael 
drew the sun—fiery red, with stiff rays sticking out 
all around it, for her hair was on end—with exas¬ 
peration. 

“I sent David one hour ago to the store for some 
butter, and where is he, I ask ye!” Thrusting her 
head out of the livingroom window, she glared up 
and down the street. Then she pulled it in again 
with an angry, but satisfied, jerk and stood with her 
hands on her hips. “I’ll be asking ye, to please look 
at him. He’s coming all right, but so is Christmas!” 

Mrs. Abbott sighed, went to the window and looked 
down. “What on earth—” 

“He’s after being an aeroplane this whole day long, 
ever since he got up this morning!” 

Mr. Abbott leaned out to see his son coming toward 
him at a snail’s pace. David was holding one hand 
at arm’s length above his head, in the position, so he 
fondly believed, of an aeroplane ready to take a 
dive toward the ground. Dive it did, with great 


60 


The Happy Tower 

speed, until it nearly crashed on the sidewalk. Then 
in time to prevent a disaster, it rose again, over his 
head. Up and down, this aeroplane dipped and soared 
like a roller coaster. 

“David!” Mr. Abbott roared at the top of his voice. 

Mrs. Abbott took firm hold upon her husband’s 
coat tails. “Darling, please!” 

“Well, I never!” exclaimed Mr. Abbott, somewhat 
more softly. “And where, may I ask, is the butter? 
David! Come up here at once!” 

With a surprised and hurt expression, David ambled 
into the apartment a few minutes later. 

“Where is that butter, I’d like to be knowing this 
very minute,” Delia asked stormily. “You forgot it, 
I’ll be bound!” 

“Oh—no! Here it is!” And he opened up his 
shirt. Next to his warm body, they could see a blue 
and white box. 

“Butter!” Delia snorted. “It’s soup,” and she 
snatched the box and made for the kitchen at top 
speed. 

“I suppose it would be too much to ask what you 
thought you were doing, waving your hand in the air 
one minute and the next threatening to slap the side¬ 
walk?” 

David wriggled in annoyance. 

“I was just playing stunt flyer,” he muttered. And, 
turning on his heel, he stalked toward the door. Just 


Thermometers 


61 


as he disappeared from sight, he tossed back, “Any¬ 
way, I was keeping the butter nice and cold.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Abbott looked at each other and then 
began to laugh. 

“It kept him cold, I am sure, for it was just off the 
ice when he bought it—” Mrs. Abbott sighed a little, 
then laughed again as she shook her head despair¬ 
ingly. 

The children went to bed with eager willingness on 
the night before their departure for their new home in 
the country. The next day would come all the sooner, 
they promised each other breathlessly, if they slept 
away the hours to its dawning. It was all the en¬ 
chanted evenings rolled into one—the night before 
Christmas, the night before a birthday, or a trip to 
Bronx Park or the beach! 

With the first rays of light, there was a twittering 
in the bedrooms like birds in their nests at dawn. 

“It’s come, Judy—it’s here!” Cynthia sighed with 
a quivering joy, as she poked her younger sister. 
“Judy, it’s here, it’s here—the day we go to the house 
with a tower and an attic.” 

Judy stirred, sat up in bed, and rubbed her eyes. 

“Is it really, really today?” she gasped. “Has it 
really come?” 

“Hush!” Cynthia warned. “Just whisper. Yes, it’s 
really come. I can’t believe it.” 



62 


The Happy Tower 

Judy lay back again, and curled up contentedly. 
“Cynthy, Mother says it has an upstairs and down¬ 
stairs. Won’t that be fun? We’ve never lived in an 
upstairs and downstairs house.” 

“This apartment house has lots of stairs,” Cynthia 
whispered softly with a little laugh, “but we can’t 
run up and down any old time here. In the country, 
we will own these upstairs and downstairs, every 
minute.” 

Patty stretched in her crib in the corner, tossing 
one arm over her head. Then she sat up, clutching 
Winkie Blinkie, and smiling sleepily at her big sis¬ 
ters. Judy crawled over Cynthia and scrambled to 
her baby sister’s side. 

“Patty, do you know what day it is?” she demanded 
as she got into Patty’s crib. 

“It’s tomorrow!” Patty blinked hard, and wriggled 
with joy and pride at being smart enough to give the 
correct answer. 

For a minute, Judy was puzzled. Was this the right 
answer? Was it tomorrow? 

“Not tomorrow—” Cynthia corrected. “It’s today.” 

“But Mother said it would be tomorrow—” Judy 
faltered. “Anyway it’s the day we are going to the 
country.” 

“Let’s all get into our bed. Judy, bring Patty over 
—so we can talk—” 

Judy promptly dragged Patty over the pile of toys 


Thermometers 


63 


and books that lay at the foot of her crib. She would 
never go to bed without everything she owned, to 
Delia’s nightly exasperation. 

Patty, sandwiched between her two sisters, was 
fairly smothered literally and figuratively—because 
the bed was not quite big enough for the three of 
them, and because she was overcome with excitement 
and pride. It wasn’t often that her sisters were so 
insistent upon sharing their “talk” with her. 

“Patty, you’re going to love my bunnies. I am 
going to have two, a daddy bunny and a mommy 
bunny, and after a while I’ll have lots of baby bun¬ 
nies—and then we can have Easter eggs every day,” 
Judy promised recklessly. 

“Every day! Every day Easter baskets?” Patty 
squirmed with delight. 

“She’s only fooling you,” Cynthia giggled. “Bun¬ 
nies don’t lay eggs.” 

“Yes, they do!” Patty bobbed her head very hard 
and hugged Winkie Blinkie. “They do! They do! 
They do!” she sing-songed over and over—her voice 
going higher at each “do.” 

“Hush!’’warned Cynthia. “Mother will make us 
stop talking. Listen!” 

And the sisters clung together “listening” very 
hard and with stifled breaths. Somewhere in the 
apartment they could hear the sound of voices. In a 
moment they plainly heard a shrill declaration: 


64 


The Happy Tower 

“I-am-so-going-in-your-goat-wagon! ” 

At that instant, clatter and confusion came swiftly. 
Delia was talking. Mother was calling, and Daddy 
was shouting. The day of days had begun! 

“Everybody up and on the job, children!” Mr. 
Abbott called in loud, delighted tones. “Everybody 
happy?” 

Through the open windows came a very unexpected 
answer, roared in no uncertain terms. “Not yet, idiot, 
but soon!” 

The children were jubilant—it was the funniest 
thing they had ever heard, and Daddy made such a 
silly face at the window that they had to hold their 
sides as they rocked with wild laughter. Daddy was 
funny! 

“And that’s the last word we will ever have to hear 
from our friends in this apartment house,” he an¬ 
nounced with a grin. “Is anybody sorry?” 

No one was. 

Mr. Abbott had only one word of regret that morn¬ 
ing. “It’s a very great pity,” he said to his wife with 
an air of deep disappointment, “that you packed my 
thermometers. I’d like one right now. I’d like to 
know what it would read in this apartment, so I could 
compare it with the temperature out in the country.” 

“I am not in the least disturbed about anything I’ve 
packed, but I am nearly frantic with the things I’ve 
forgotten,” Mrs. Abbott replied with a worried expres- 


Thermometers 65 

sion. “From what I’ve found around here this morn- 
I guess we 11 have to use the children for packing 
boxes. Everything else is full.” 

David, Judy and Michael fell upon this idea with 
a shout. Cynthia, alone, was not pleased. Wouldn’t 
they look silly, and wouldn’t everyone stare, when 
five children marched into a train, just bulging with 
bundles? Oh, dear! 

David took his mother at her word, and followed 
her about, asking her when she was going to “pack” 
him. There was plenty of room in his blouse, and in 
his pockets, he told her. 

“Be ready for the taxi—everybody!” Mr. Abbott 
warned every few minutes. “Remember, keeping him 
waiting is going to cost us money.” 

But when the bell did ring, and the taxi driver an¬ 
nounced that he was there, it was Mr. Abbott who kept 
him waiting. 

“Oh, my goodness! Where is my key ring? Oh, 
my goodness!” he shouted. “I had it only a few min¬ 
utes ago. Find it someone! Oh, my goodness!” 

Everyone, including Patty, raced around in dizzy, 
blind circles, as they always did when Daddy lost 
something. 

“This is a pretty pickle! Oh, my goodness!” Mr. 
Abbott kept saying. “The key to the new house is 
on it!” 

Now the moving men arrived and the uproar and 



66 


The Happy Tower 

confusion was beyond belief. Then suddenly, with¬ 
out any warning at all, Mr. Abbott shouted for the 
last time in their New York apartment. 

“All aboard, children! The taxi is eating up money, 
standing there. What on earth is keeping you all? 
Why, of course I’ve found the keys.” 

“Sure and what’s keeping us?” Delia hinted darkly. 
“I might be giving a true answer, but I won’t.” 

With a roar and clatter, Mr. and Mrs. Abbott, their 
five children and Delia, all carrying packages of vari¬ 
ous sizes and shapes, said goodbye for the last time 
to their New York City home! Mrs. Abbott promised 
herself she would ask her husband, when she got 
around to it, if by any chance he had had the keys 
in his pocket all the time. But she never did, for even 
getting into the taxi was not achieved without diffi¬ 
culty. Who was going to sit next to the windows? 

“Climb right in, children, please!” When Mrs. Ab¬ 
bott used that quiet, firm tone, her family obeyed with¬ 
out question—and quickly. 

Off they started, with Cynthia jammed in between 
her mother and Delia on the back seat; Patty sitting 
on Delia’s lap; Michael leaning against his mother’s 
knees; David on one of the auxiliary seats; his father 
on the other. Judy stood up, holding on to David. 

Mr. Abbott turned his head to watch the taxi meter, 
and when the traffic lights changed to red, and the cab 
came to a stop, he groaned, “I’ll have to take up a 


Thermometers 


67 


collection! Look at the amount of that fare!” 

Cynthia tried not to think of how they would all 
look when they tumbled out of the taxi. She wouldn’t 
glance at one person in the depot, not one, when they 
got out with all those bundles. It was a disgrace! 

Mr. Abbott was to put his family on the train, then 
return to his office. He would come out later to the 
new home, in time for dinner. 

To Cynthia’s mind, the exit from the taxi and the 
entrance into the train were even worse than she had 
imagined. 

Michael and David tore through their car of the 
train shouting, “I wacky a window!” 

Mr. Abbott called after them in a stem voice that 
made everyone nearly stretch his neck to see this 
entertaining cavalcade. “Michael! David! Come 
here! Stay near your mother, now. I don’t want to 
find a few children missing tonight.” 

“Oh, Daddy!” they protested as they reluctantly 
returned. 

Cynthia pressed her nose against a window and 
shut her eyes. This was dreadful! All the people in 
sight were smiling. Why did Daddy always think it 
was so funny to let everyone in the world know how 
many children he had! 

When, at last, the conductor called, “All aboard,” 
and Mr. Abbott said goodbye and left the car, Cyn¬ 
thia drew a deep sigh of relief. That part was overt 


68 The Happy Tower 

Then to her acute misery, her father shouted gaily 
from the car platform as he stuck his head in at the 
door, “Count them, Delia! Count them! See if you 
have them all. Is Judy there?” 

Delia stood up and counted heads. “Sure and 
they’re all here—every last one—” she called back 
in a loud, lusty tone. 

“Oh, goodness!” Cynthia shivered. 66 Oh, good¬ 
ness /” 

Then the train gave a lurch forward, Mr. Abbott 
waved from the station platform, and they were oif! 

For a long, lovely time, Cynthia felt alone in a 
strange, beautiful new world. Nor did she reply to 
Judy, who was chatting happily at her side. At length 
Judy gave up in disgust, and went to sit with Patty. 
Cynthia was deaf, dumb and blind, she told her small 
sister. 

Cynthia was not deaf, nor dumb nor blind. A 
home in an enchanted land was waiting for her at the 
end of this journey. Grandma’s big theatrical trunk, 
which for years had been stored unopened in the 
basement of the apartment house, was on the train 
with her. It was to be taken up and placed in that— 
attic! Would she be permitted to rummage in it on 
a rainy day the way children did in story books? 
What lovely and mysterious things were packed in 
its depths? Mother had told her of the time, years 
before, when Grandma had played the Czarina of 




Thermometers 


69 


all the Russians. Cynthia drew in her breath in quiv¬ 
ering ecstasy. She had seen a photograph of that 
dazzling court costume, and the memory of it en¬ 
thralled her. Did that precious gown lie hidden in 
that trunk? Her gray eyes were starry in anticipation 
of the moment when her eager fingers could touch its 
satiny folds. She saw herself as a royal figure, with 
a crown of “jewels” on her head, and long strings of 
“pearls” and “diamonds” about her neck. She remem¬ 
bered with rapturous delight that her mother had told 
her there was a great court train of velvet edged in 
“ermine” in the trunk. Nor did she recall what her 
mother had added—“But that ermine is really only 
strips of bunny skins, my dear!” 

Perhaps, too, Grandma had, unknown to Mother, 
tucked away old books in that trunk, books filled with 
tales of long, long ago—. At this minute, Cynthia was 
keenly and gratefully aware that Judy had left her. 
There were times when it was sweet, beyond words, to 
dream alone. 

The train was now far beyond the railroad yards, 
beyond the hideously ugly sections of the city, and 
wide meadows of tall grasses, bulrushes and cattails 
stretched on both sides of the tracks. Cynthia drank 
in the scene with luminous eyes. She heard a train 
whistle trailing its mournful wail across the meadows, 
and it filled her with a strange delight. She felt as 
though she were far, far away and going farther! 


70 


The Happy Tower 

At every station the younger children stood up and 
clamored in excited voices, “Are we there? Are we 
there?” Even by the time they had reached the first 
station, it had seemed the longest train trip they had 
ever taken. After they had passed the fourth station, 
an epidemic of hunger broke out without warning. 
Mrs. Abbott was not sure who was stricken first. But 
once under way, the attack swept through her little 
brood. 

“But it isn’t anywhere near lunch time, children,” 
she protested. “Please think of something else. What¬ 
ever made you think of eating now, I wonder?” 

“Ye’d like to know, would ye,” Delia answered up 
promptly. “It was the sight of them children that 
got in at the last station. They’re eating bananas. I’ve 
an idea they’re going on a picnic—with all the lunch 
boxes they be having.” 

“Well, we are not , positively not going to eat ba¬ 
nanas on a train, and that’s all there is to it. Bananas 
—on such a hot day! It makes me ill to even think 
of it!” Mrs. Abbott declared. 

“I’m starving /” Judy wailed. 

“Stop that nonsense, at once,” her mother ordered 
sharply. 

Silently, then, Judy and Michael and Patty stood 
in the aisle near her seat, looking at her with deep 
reproach in their eyes. How could any mother refuse 
food to her hungry children—turn a deaf ear on their 
pleas? 


Thermometers 


71 


“I’m thirsty! And there isn’t any more water in 
the cooler.” It was David, adding thirst to the press¬ 
ing needs of the family. 

Delia sniffed. 

“There they go! They’re off! It hits them like a 
deadly plague, they all git it at onct, and over they 
go in a heap, dying of starvation and hunger. That’s 
the way it was, these many times when I took them 
to the park. Ye never can tell what will do it, some¬ 
times it’s nothing but a squirrel eating a peanut. It’s 
enough to try the patience of all the saints,” she 
grumbled crossly. 

Mrs. Abbott turned her head away and looked out of 
the window. The journey was getting too much for her, 
too. Suddenly, she smiled, and looked so alert, so 
happy, that it was contagious. The children crowded 
closer, eyes bright with curiosity. What was it? 

“Get your things all ready. Don’t forget anything . 
It’s the next station. We are getting off very soon 

95 

now— 

“Oh, boy!” David gasped. It didn’t seem possible! 

Without a word, all the younger Abbotts scampered 
for their seats. Their hearts were beating with stifling 
excitement, almost more overpowering than during 
that last moment just before they were permitted to 
see their Christmas presents. They were completely 
beyond speech! 



IV 

~ A Lost Father ~ 

The hushed silence continued as the Abbott chil¬ 
dren got off the train. Looking around in round-eyed 
wonder at the pretty little suburban station of Elwood, 
they drank in the unfamiliar scene with confused de¬ 
light. 

Happily, and without confusion, they allowed them¬ 
selves to be bundled into the shabby big automobile 
that was to drive them to their new home. Even the 
grown-ups, Delia and Mrs. Abbott, were silent. Their 
city home was behind them—many miles, it seemed, 
—and many years. They were entering a new and 
strange world. Suddenly, Delia’s eyes filled with tears, 
and she put her arm tightly around Michael, her 
baby. It was a comfort to feel him there, to know that 
as long as she had his chubby hand in hers, she hadn’t 
separated herself completely from everything she had 
known in America. 


72 


A Lost Father 


73 


Hot and tired as Mrs. Abbott was, she, too, shared 
a little of Delia’s panic. As the big car sped along, 
Delia and Mrs. Abbott felt lost between two homes— 
the one they had left and the one to which they were 
coming. 

They were driving now along a pretty street which 
was heavily shaded with big maple trees. Each house 
had its nicely kept front lawn, and neatly clipped 
hedges, which marked where one lawn ended and 
another began. 

“We live farther out—” Mrs. Abbott broke the si¬ 
lence which had held them all spellbound, since they 
had left the train. “It’s the older part of the town, 
and not so closely built up. There are a few open 
spaces—” she turned to Delia. 

Delia nodded, greatly pleased. She could do with 
a few open spaces—for where would she turn the 
children loose if there were none, she asked herself? 

The car whirled around a corner, and they turned 
into a street with only a few homes on it. “And, 
heaven be thanked,” Delia thought reverently, “there 
are open spaces—” 

Then the car was brought to a standstill at the curb. 

“Oh, Davy!” Cynthia pinched her brother’s arm. 
“It has a tower, after all. It’s only a little one, but it 
is a tower—” 

“It looks haunted— 

“Maybe it is!” 


74 The Happy Tower 

Speechless no longer, the children tumbled out of 
the car in wildest confusion. Indeed, what with their 
excited chattering, such a hubbub arose that they 
sounded for all the world like a flock of grackles, 
suddenly taking possession of an oak tree. 

It was a beautiful lawn, they told their mother over 
and over. In the ride up from the depot they had not 
seen one lawn half so fine. More important, this 
front lawn of theirs looked like the country. The 
grass was high and all tangled up with wild flowers, 
—Queen Anne’s Lace, dandelions, buttercups and 
clover blossoms—much nicer than the cut grass in 
Central Park. 

“Oh, Mother!” Michael suddenly squealed with 
joy. “Mother, we’ve got squirrels at our new home!” 

If Michael was delighted to see the squirrel, the 
feeling was not mutual. Exceedingly displeased at 
the intrusion, the object of Michael’s delight hung on 
the side of a tree glaring at them with hard, beady, 
black eyes. His tail was thrashing up and down, and 
he scolded at the strangers for all he was worth. 

Judy hung back and waited for her mother, until 
Mrs. Abbott had finished helping Delia and the driver 
haul things out of the car. Then she slipped her own 
moist, warm hand into one of her mother’s and held 
on very tightly. The house looked so big and so 
strange, that it almost frightened her. She wanted 


A Lost Father 


75 


to be very close to her mother when they climbed up 
the steps to its broad veranda. 

Mrs. Abbott looked down at her small daughter 
with a smile. “Funny little goosie! Just look at 
Michael and Patty!” 

Already Patty and Michael were racing up and 
down the long porch, letting out wild whoops of joy. 
They were not interested in the inside of the house. 
The porch was joy enough for them at the moment. 

“It has a tower, hasn’t it, Mother!” Cynthia ex¬ 
claimed, her eyes shining. 

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it a tower —a cupola 
—perhaps—” 

“Well, I’m going to call it a tower,” Cynthia told 
her. 

“They might have cut the grass—” Mrs. Abbott 
commented as she put the key into the lock. “They 
promised me they would.” 

“Oh, Mother!” Cynthia walked to the railing of 
the porch and stood looking down. “Don’t let’s have 
it cut. It’s so pretty. It’s exactly like the country. 
Look at all the flowers! None of the other houses have 
such tall grass! I think it’s nice. It’s so different from 
the park—” Cynthia was very disappointed when 
Mrs. Abbott explained that this tangled, lovely little 
bit of wilderness would have to go. 

Once the door was opened, the children rushed into 



76 


The Happy Tower 

the house with a happy shout. Then, for a moment, 
the shout was followed by a surprised hush. What 
big rooms! They seemed huge, in their emptiness, 
many, many times larger than those in the apartment. 
But the surprise was quickly overcome by curiosity, 
and the children scampered in all directions, to ex¬ 
plore every nook and corner of the first floor. 

“Upstairs! Let’s go upstairs!” David called as 
soon as they had completed this survey. And he and 
Cynthia almost knocked each other down in an effort 
to lead the procession up the stairs. “Come on kids! 
Let’s find our own rooms!” 

Cynthia had been promised a room of her own for 
the first time in her life. It was a small room at the 
front of the house, Mrs. Abbott said. And Cynthia 
was determined that no one else should lay eyes on 
her new possession before she did. Clutching David 
by his shirt, she held him back, and with a leap was 
ahead of him on the stairs. Once on the upper land¬ 
ing, she spun around like a top. Where was the front 
of the house now? 

“Oh, I’ve found it! I’ve found my room, my own 
room!” she shouted with wild pride. “Oh, David, 
look! Look! It’s part of the tower. My room is nearly 
round. It’s round in one corner. Oh, David, come 
quick. Isn’t it wonderful!” 

David was at her side, his eyes wide with excite¬ 
ment. “It’s part of the tower!” he echoed. “It’s part 


A Lost Father 77 

of the tower. Look at all the windows! Oh, boy!” 
and he let out a long breath. “Oh, boy!” 

Then he turned and rushed toward the other rooms, 
leaving Cynthia still standing spellbound in her pre¬ 
cious tower room. She could hear her brothers 
and sisters calling to each other and scampering about, 
as they went from room to room like so many curious 
cats in a new place. But for the moment Cynthia was 
not interested in their discoveries. The room she had 
dreamed of having—hers, her own. Not until she 
heard David shout again, did she stir. 

“Let’s find the attic! Let’s find the top of the 
tower.” 

With a sudden leap of her heart, Cynthia ran out 
into the hall. The attic! Oh she must, she must see 
the attic and the upstairs part of the tower first . 
She was the oldest. It was only fair! 

“Where is the door to the attic?” David called as 
she came toward him. “I can’t find it.” 

Feverishly, Cynthia glanced about. Every door in 
sight was wide open but one. That must be it! That 
must be the magic one, leading up into an enchanted 
realm. She darted toward it, her eyes dark with ex¬ 
pectation, her cheeks burning. Then, triumphantly, 
she threw it open. Before her stretched a long flight 
of winding, narrow stairs. 

“Oh, David, they’re like fairy steps, aren’t they?” 
And she caught her breath, scarcely believing her 


78 The Happy Tower 

eyes. It was all coming true, everything she had 
hoped for these last few weeks. 

She started up the stairs, with David at her heels, 
Judy behind him, and then Michael. Small Patty 
followed slowly, half crawling, one step at a time. 
Her brothers and sisters were not going to leave her 
behind and out of their fun. 

“The tower! The tower!” David and Cynthia 
chanted. 

In one corner of the large, front room on the top 
floor was a circular wall in the shape of a bay win¬ 
dow, but instead of one window, there were six high, 
small windows. To the Abbott children, from the 
moment they spied it, it was a tower! 

Cynthia tingled with happiness. But as she turned 
to speak to David, her eyes glowing, she wished he 
were Peter. Peter always seemed to understand, bet¬ 
ter than David, just how she felt. 

“Isn’t it marvelous? I know Grandma will love it 
when she comes to visit us. She told me once that the 
one thing she’s always wanted was a tower room, with 
a rope ladder leading up to it that she could pull up 
after her when she got into it.” 

“She couldn’t pull those stairs up,” David replied 
practically. “If she did, the house would fall apart.” 

“Bother, why did David always have to be so sen¬ 
sible?” Cynthia thought to herself as she followed the 


A Lost Father 


79 


younger children out of the tower room in search 
of the attic. But a disappointment awaited them. 
At the back of the house, the Abbotts found only a 
room—a very ordinary looking one at that! 

Cynthia felt that it was up to her to do something 
when the others looked so dismayed. “I guess this is 
only Delia’s room,” she said. “Let’s open the other 
doors.” 

David opened two, but only closets were on the 
other side. 

“There must be an attic. Mother said there was an 
attic!” Cynthia persisted. “Maybe, it’s behind a secret 
panel. Maybe we’ll have to tap on the wall to find it, 
like they do in mystery books.” 

“Cynthy!” It was Patty, out in the hall, her voice 
trembling with importance. She had found a door 
none of the others had noticed, and she was delighted. 
“Here’s a door. A big, big, door!” 

She was right. 

Once more it was Cynthia who won the race toward 
the unexplored territory. Opening the door, she took 
one step beyond the sill. Then she stopped short. It 
was very, very dark ahead of her. 

David stuck his head past her shoulder. “It’s 
haunted—it’s a haunted attic!” he declared. 

Judy eyed her brother in alarm. “What’s a haunted 
attic?” she asked nervously. 


80 


The Happy Tower 

“Look!” David continued in a deep voice, catching 
hold of Judy’s arm and dragging her through the 
open door. “It’s as black as night.” 

“Not as black as night,” Cynthia corrected bravely, 
“it’s got little lights in it.” 

Judy took one look, then shut her eyes tight. “I 
don’t like it, I don’t like it. I’m going downstairs—” 
and she dashed for the steps leading down from the 
third floor. 

“I like it.” Michael was determined to show that 
he was just as courageous as anyone. He rather en¬ 
joyed feeling “scared.” 

“It’s got a lot of ‘eyes’ in it,” he added sturdily. 

It was just as well that Judy did not hear him say 
that the attic had “eyes,” or she might have broken 
her neck falling down those narrow stairs in a head¬ 
long rush to get away from “eyes.” 

Cynthia’s own eyes had now grown used to the 
darkness, and she noticed the rafters overhead and 
the two small windows at one end. It was, she de¬ 
cided with great satisfaction, a real attic. That is, 
if an attic could be real without trunks. But they 
would be coming, she reminded herself. 

When the children all got down to the first floor 
again, they discovered that the moving men had ar¬ 
rived, as well as the men from the telephone company. 
Mr. Abbott was determined that they should not be 
without a telephone for a minute. But a still better 


A Lost Father 


81 


surprise was the discovery that Delia and Mrs. Ab¬ 
bott had already spread out a picnic lunch for them 
on the kitchen sink—a lunch they had had with them 
on the train! David had carried a box of cakes (oh, 
if he had guessed!), Cynthia a box of sandwiches, and 
Delia the big thermos bottle of cold milk! 

“Why didn’t you tell us we had a lunch with us, 
Mother?” David asked. 

“Sure, and if it’s bliss to be ignorant, it’s folly to 
be wise!” Delia announced. “And what ye don’t know 
won’t hurt ye.” 

“And—we even had bananas!” Judy commented 
reproachfully. “We could have divided one.” 

“If there’s one thing in this whole world I dislike, 
it’s the smell of bananas on a train,” declared Mrs. 
Abbott. “As long as I am your mother, you will never, 
never eat one near me when we are traveling.” And 
wearily she brushed back her hair. How hot and tired 
she felt! Moving was far more an adventure to the 
children than to her, she thought. In fact, to her it 
was no adventure at all. It was a job! 

“And I can hardly be waiting—” Delia declared, 
“to try out the good part of this country business— 
and turn the lot of ye outdoors. We’ve got plenty of 
work to do, your mother and me.” 

Out-of-doors! It was so wonderful to find it there, 
as soon as you opened the front door. Out-of-doors, 


82 


The Happy Tower 

theirs to play in whenever they wished. All through 
the long, hot afternoon they rushed about, making 
discoveries at every turn, tingling with the certainty 
that adventure awaited them on every side, adventure 
that would never end so long as they lived in this glo¬ 
rious place. 

Ever after, their memory of that first afternoon was 
to be a misty one of complete delight. They could 
not remember just what they did. But they knew be¬ 
yond all doubt that it was the happiest day of their 
lives. And very soon Peter would be there to share 
in the fun. 

Delia and Mrs. Abbott, too, never had a clear idea 
of what they, themselves, did that day during the time 
between lunch and dinner. But of one thing they 
were absolutely sure. They never stopped moving! 
They knew that beds in six bedrooms were set up and 
made, that the dishes were gotten out of the barrels, 
and the pots and pans. But as for the rest of it—! 
“The saints preserve us, it’s a mess,” declared Delia. 

Late in the afternoon, Mrs. Abbott went to the tele¬ 
phone, and using the names and telephone numbers 
that had been suggested to her by the real estate agent, 
she gave some orders for dinner. It was to be what 
Delia called a “calamity” dinner, for it was the one 
she always planned when everybody was too distracted 
to cook or to think—cold ham, sliced tomatoes, potato 
salad, and glasses of milk. 


A Lost Father 


83 


Mr. Abbott’s train was due at 6:52, and Mrs. Ab¬ 
bott wanted his homecoming to be a happy one. She 
wanted him to feel that commuting was no more dif¬ 
ficult than getting home to an apartment from his 
office. 

“Delia,” she asked anxiously, after it did seem that 
he should have arrived, “what time is it? How long 
did it take us to come up from the station?” 

“Time?” Delia snorted, “I ain’t had an idea about 
time since I got up this morning—which, off hand, 
I’d say was three months ago, plus a week or so 
thrown in for good measure.” 

Mrs. Abbott was growing uneasy. 

“It does seem that Mr. Abbott ought to be here by 
now. 

“He’s walking, remember. He won’t be taking no 
cars. Himself is going in for health, and there’s noth¬ 
ing more healthy than long walks in a blistering sun,” 
Delia answered tartly. She was very hot. 

“Dear me!” Mrs. Abbott sighed. “Yes, I suppose 
he has walked. But I hope he hasn’t gotten lost some¬ 
where. I don’t want him to begin his country life 
with such a discouraging experience.” 

“Is Daddy lost?” Judy asked, worried. Judy al¬ 
ways worried about her family, whether they were 
near or far. 

“Maybe he only missed his train!” Mrs. Abbott 
was talking to herself. But, she thought gloomily, 


84 The Happy Tower 

that wasn’t a cheering thought, either! It might make 
him disgusted immediately with commuting. 

The telephone rang. It rang loudly, demandingly. 
Cynthia and David raced to answer it. 

“Stop!” Mrs. Abbott ordered. “Please don’t an¬ 
swer that, children. It must be Daddy. I want to 
speak to him.” 

“Maybe he waited to get my goat wagon,” David 
suggested. Mrs. Abbott merely gave her son a look 
of hopeless despair. She took the receiver off the 
hook with a sinking feeling. Now what? 

The minute the receiver was in their mother’s hand, 
the children could distinctly hear a roaring sound. 

“It’s Daddy!” And Judy’s brow cleared. “He’s 
not lost, he’s there.” 

“Wait! Wait!” Mrs. Abbott begged into the tele¬ 
phone. “I can’t understand one word, not one word 
you are saying. Where are you?” 

There was another roar, then a silence. Mrs. Abbott 
put her hand over the receiver, and looked about in 
dismay. 

“Where is Daddy?” It was Cynthia who was wor¬ 
ried now. 

“He doesn’t know. He is finding out. He took the 
wrong train,” their mother told them. 

Delia now joined the anxious group around the 
telephone. “Sure he must be somewhere, trains al¬ 
ways get some place or another—” 


A Lost Father 


85 


“Well, wherever he is, it’s another place , than this 
town—Oh, yes, I am here!” Mrs. Abbott was speak¬ 
ing into the telephone again. “Where are you?—I 
can’t understand!—There couldn’t be a town with a 
name like that!—What are you going to do now? 
—Oh, I am sorry—get here when you can—” Mrs. 
Abbott hung up. “If that isn’t the last straw, posi¬ 
tively the last. Your Daddy says he is in Pow-wow. 
There just couldn’t be a place with a silly name like 
that!” 

“Is he lost for good?” Michael asked with quivering 
lips. After all, he didn’t have another father, and 
Daddy was lots of fun to have about. 

“Why did he take the wrong train?” Cynthia asked. 

“If you all are going to stand around asking silly 
questions, you can go to bed. Why did he take the 
wrong train? Why does anyone take the wrong train?” 
Mrs. Abbott demanded of no one in particular. 

“Why do they?” David persisted obligingly. 

“Don’t be bothering your mother. She’s tired!” 
Delia ordered severely. “Sure and with a hundred 
and one wrong trains, and only one right train—it’s 
small wonder I say. You come out here and rest, 
Mrs. Abbott. You’re all tired out.” 

Opening the front door, Delia dragged a chair 
out on to the veranda. “You sit right down. He’ll 
get here, never fear.” 

Mrs. Abbott smiled gratefully. The children fol- 



86 


The Happy Tower 

lowed her out through the door, and huddled in a 
little heap on the top steps of the porch. This was 
a serious state of affairs—a lost father. 

“I got lost once!” Michael whispered in a small 
voice. He shivered. His brother and sisters nodded. 
They remembered, for they had heard the story many 
times. It was one of the family fables. It had hap¬ 
pened in a department store, and their mother had 
been nearly frantic for over half an hour. And when 
she found her small son, seated on a pile of blankets, 
a crowd had gathered around him. The tears were 
streaming down his cheeks, but he made no sound. At 
the sight of his mother’s sweetly familiar face, as she 
pushed and elbowed her way toward him, he had let 
out just one wail of reproach. 

“You losted me! You losted me!” 

“Patty was lost in the park one day,” Judy now 
recalled. “It was awful.” 

“Once I read about a man who got lost in the 
mountains, and a big dog found him. He was nearly 
frozen stiff in the snow when the dog gave him some 
whiskey.” It was David, contributing his story. 

“Well, Daddy won’t get frozen stiff in the snow 
today,” Cynthia said with scorn. “Don’t be silly!” 

David looked straight ahead and thought to him¬ 
self that his sister talked to him as though he weren’t 
nine! After all, she was only two years older. He 
didn’t so much mind her saying that a man couldn’t 


A Lost Father 


87 


freeze to death on a hot day like this, but he did very 
much mind being called “silly.” Anyway, he had 
read that story! Gloomily he eyed his older sister. 
Without doubt, Cynthia would get very smart and su¬ 
perior after Peter came. When Peter and Cynthia 
were together, they always treated him like a baby, 
as if he didn’t count. For the minute, he quite forgot 
about his father’s being lost, and concentrated on 
the hope that Peter would get so lost that he would 
never find their new house. 

The telephone rang again. Mrs. Abbott ran into 
the house, her children close behind. 

“Daddy found himself!” Michael shouted. 

Mrs. Abbott took the receiver off the hook. Now 
what? 

Yes, it was Daddy. They could all hear his voice 
distinctly. He was shouting so loudly that it almost 
seemed he didn’t need a telephone, and that he 
could have just stuck his head out of the window 
wherever he was and been heard for miles and miles 
—right to where they were! 

“Glory be to goodness!” Delia exclaimed. “This is 
a beginning to his country life that will be his ending.” 

“All right! I am sorry—I am very sorry—Be sure 
this time of your bus, please! Good, we’ll be glad 
to see you.” With a weary smile Mrs. Abbott hung 
up and turned to her children. She shook her head 
sadly. 


88 


The Happy Tower 

“Your Daddy got into a bus marked Elwood in 
that silly town he called Tow-wow’ but he forgot to 
ask whether it was going to Elwood, or coming from it. 
It seems it was coming from Elwood! Now he’s many 
miles farther away than when he first called us.” 

“Now-what- do-ye- think-of- that- I’ll- be- asking- ye? ” 
Delia exclaimed. “If that doesn’t be beating all!” 

“The next time Daddy telephones, where do you 
guess he will be?” Michael asked eagerly, delighted 
with this new game. 

“I give up about where Daddy will be, but I don’t 
need to guess where you all will be in a few minutes. 
Right in bed. You have all been awake since dawn. 
It’s been a long day.” 

“Oh, can’t we see Daddy get found?” Judy wailed. 

“Just think how much fun it will be to go to sleep 
in a new room and in a new house,” said Mrs. Ab¬ 
bott, ignoring Judy’s question. “And it’s even more 
fun to wake up in one—” 

And she took one of Patty’s hands and one of 
Michael’s and steered them toward the stairs. 

Cynthia was eager to go to bed in her room that 
was the lower part of a tower in one corner. It was 
an adventure, and she knew she would have the most 
beautiful, exciting thoughts as she went to sleep. 

After the children were in bed, Delia and Mrs. 
Abbott sat out on the porch and waited for Mr. Ab¬ 
bott. 



A Lost Father 


89 


“These wouldn’t be mosquitoes, now? These bugs 
that’s biting like sin?” Delia slapped her arm vi¬ 
ciously. 

“They would be!” replied Mrs. Abbott, as she 
looked out into the darkness. 

They slapped at the mosquitoes for an hour or so 
—and did little or no talking. Delia much preferred 
going to bed herself, but she wouldn’t leave Mrs. 
Abbott until her husband was “found.” 

Finally Mr. Abbott was “found,” but not until they 
had both secretly given up all hope. And, to their 
amazement, he came shouting up the walk in high 
good humor. 

“I’ve only one complaint to make—and I am going 
to make it. I am going to write a strong letter to the 
president of that ding-busted railroad. It’s an outrage 
and a crying shame that they haven’t more guards or 
signs in that depot, so people can’t make mistakes. 
That idiot guard I asked, didn’t even bother to listen 
to my questions. He just shouted, ‘Yes.’ Accommodat¬ 
ing—but a dyed-in-the-wool rascal.” 

He was happy—and proud of his new home. And 
he did not seem half so tired as they. 

“It’s a pity that our atlas is probably packed down 
deep in a crate, for I’d like to look up the places I’ve 
been to, tonight,” he said cheerfully over a snack out 
in the kitchen. “And another pity is—you probably 
haven’t had time to hang the thermometers? I am 




90 The Happy Tower 

curious to know what the temperature is now.” 

“We certainly have not had time to hang thermom¬ 
eters!” Mrs. Abbott answered emphatically. “I didn’t 
need any thermometer to know it was hotr 

“Oh, well—” he leaned back contented, “you know 
I’d like to buy this house—. This is the life!” 

After a minute’s quiet, he stood up, and frowned 
in a puzzled way, as he cocked his head. “Sounds 
as though the country around here had the hiccoughs! 
What’s that racket?” 

“Racket?” Mrs. Abbott echoed, as she, too, stood 
up. Then she smiled. “Those, my dear, are crickets, 
and I like the sound.” 

“I am glad you do!” her husband returned doubt¬ 
fully. “I suppose it’s cheery—but it will take getting 
used to! Maybe that chirping will lull me to sleep, 
however, and faith I need it! Let’s say with Tiny Tim, 
‘A merry good night, and God bless us, every one!’ ” 

The long day was over—and they were both happy 
to go to bed, at last. But before dawn they awoke— 
or rather, were awakened. 

“Holy cats! Suffering cats!” Mr. Abbott exclaimed, 
sitting bolt upright in bed. “What’s going on?” 

“Well, it’s cats all right. But that’s not all,” Mrs. 
Abbott told him. “There are other noises.” 

Judy’s voice, clear and unmistakable, was raised 
high above a rapidly increasing uproar. 

“Daddy—stop—those—cats—” 








91 


A Lost Father 

“Jumping jupiter!” Mr. Abbott was now fully 
awake, and out of his bed. 

Daddy-stop-those-cats—” Judy demanded again, 
at the top of her lungs. 

“Mother-tell-Judy-to-stop!” Cynthia complained. 

Mr. Abbott was stumbling around in the dark, and 
muttered as he stumbled. 

“For the love of Pete—aren’t there wall plugs in 
this stupid house—I can’t find a light.” 

“Daddy-stop-those-cats,” Judy demanded again. 

“Judy, please keep still!” Mrs. Abbott called. 
“You will wake the whole house.” 

To the clatter was now added a new uproar. Delia 
was stumbling down the attic stairs. 

“Where are you, Tom?” Mrs. Abbott asked dis¬ 
mally, feeling around on the wall by the bed for 
the switch. 

tier husband’s voice came to her from high above. 
“I don’t know what I am standing on, I’m sure!” he 
answered impatiently. “It might be the piano for all 
I know. None of the furniture is where it belongs!” 

“Mrs. Abbott, Mrs. Abbott—” Delia called anx¬ 
iously, “where am I, and where are you?” 

“Daddy! Mother!” It was David’s voice, raised 
in frightened protest. 

And the cats were still howling—wailing—tearing 
the night to pieces. 

Mr. Abbott found the light, at last, hanging from 




92 The Happy Tower 

a center bracket overhead. In the sudden glare, he 
jumped down from a crate which was standing on 
end. 

“You really didn’t need to stand on that. You 
could have reached the light from the floor,” his wife 
remonstrated mildly. 

Without a word, her husband picked up one of his 
shoes and marched to the window. 

Delia, standing blinking in the doorway, was en¬ 
veloped in a fantastic garment she called her kimono. 
Behind her were Judy, Cynthia and David. 

“Make those cats stop!” Judy sputtered. 

“Give me just one minute, my child, and your wish 
shall be granted,” her father told her, as he opened 
the screen in the window. Then he pulled his arm 
back with his shoe still in his hand. 

“Oh, darling, don’t—,” his wife began. 

Before she could finish, Mr. Abbott had flung his 
shoe as far as he could into the darkness. Without a 
moment’s hesitation, the cats went on with their noise. 

“Bad shot!” was Mr. Abbott’s only comment. 
“David, hand me my other shoe.” David was de¬ 
lighted—this was fun! 

“Now—” Mr. Abbott took aim carefully and let 
fly. There was instantly a furious howl of protest 
from one cat. 

“Bull’s eye!” Mr. Abbott shouted. Before his wife 
could stop him, he had picked up one of her shoes 



A Lost Father 


93 


from the floor and had sent it whirling into space. 

“If this don’t beat all!” Delia grumbled. “Judy, 
you started this. Ye’d think ye never heard tell of 
cats in the city.” 

“Thomas Abbott, don’t you dare send my other 
shoe out that window!” Mrs. Abbott protested. “Think 
how ridiculous we’ll look in the morning, running 
around in a neighbor’s garden looking for—.” 

It was no use at all! Mr. Abbott was having the 
time of his life. Winking at his audience, he now 
wound up like a baseball pitcher. 

“This will do the trick!” he promised. 

And it did! There was a clatter of smashing glass, 
angry howls of cats—a mad scamper—and then si¬ 
lence. A very overpowering silence. 

“Well!” he turned around and faced his family 
triumphantly. “That’s that!” 

“That 9 s-tliat sounded to me like a window,” his wife 
returned grimly, as she reached out to turn off the light. 
“Run back to bed, children.” 

But the children did not move. In the house next 
door, some forty feet from them, they could see lights 
flashing, first in one window and then another. 

“They’re signaling us!” David suggested excitedly. 
“I bet that means O.K.” 

“And I’ll be betting right this very moment, it 
doesn’t mean O.K.,” Delia put in. “Be off with ye— 
Judy, David and Cynthia—to bed, and not another 



94 


The Happy Tower 

word out of ye. Already I can see this country air is 
good for Judy’s lungs. Sure I never heard her yell 
louder—” she pushed the three children ahead of 
her. “It’s a blessing that ye didn’t wake Patty and 
Michael. Cats howling wouldn’t be nothing at all— 
if ye had.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Abbott stood for awhile in the dark 
watching the house next door and listening to Delia as 
she stormed and grumbled. She was still protesting as 
she went up the stairs to her room. 

After a while, the lights next door went out. 

“Good! Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” 
Mr. Abbott declared. “The morning will be time 
enough to mourn the shipwreck of a window.” 

Mrs. Abbott said nothing. 

“Well, I certainly have not lost my knack at pitch¬ 
ing,” Mr. Abbott observed as he got into bed. “Pretty 
good, considering that I am out of practice.” 

His wife still said nothing. 

The house, the neighborhood, was quiet again. Just 
as Cynthia fell asleep, she heard a train whistle. It 
sounded so strangely unfamiliar, so mysterious, that 
it filled her with delight. She must remember some¬ 
time to tell Peter about it,—he would like to hear it, 
too. Peter always understood how she felt. 


V 



Peter 


V 

~ Country Life ~ 

The Abbott children awoke in the morning with 
such excited clatter that their mother, deciding that 
further attempts to sleep were useless, got up to find 
out what they were doing. It was still much too hot! 
She looked around for her shoes. Then she remem¬ 
bered. Her shoes were out on the lawn! 

“Tom! Tom!” she exclaimed to her husband. “My 
shoes—your shoes—” 

Mr. Abbott lifted his head from the pillow and 
blinked. 

“My shoes! Shoes! They are out the window!” his 
wife told him. 


95 




96 The Happy Tower 

“Shoes,” he repeated sleepily. “Shoes out the 
window?” 

“Yes—you threw them there. We must send the 
children for them at once.” 

Then he, too, remembered. 

“David!” he called. “Dav-id—David!” 

In an instant, all of his children were in the room. 
They left him almost breathless as they crowded about 
him chattering excitedly. 

“Come one—come all!” he grinned. Then he con¬ 
tinued, “David, go outdoors at once and get my shoes, 
please. Remember, I threw them at some cats last 
night?” 

“In my pajamas?” David inquired. 

“Yes, indeed. That’s the lovely part of living in 
the country on a hot day. A boy of nine can certainly 
go out and gather up his father’s shoes in his pajamas 
without criticism.” 

“I’ll go!” Michael offered eagerly. “Can’t I go?” 

“All right—you, too,” agreed his father. The two 
boys dashed from the room, and a few minutes later 
were standing in the dewy grass under their parent’s 
bedroom window. 

“Daddy-tell-us-where-you-threw-them!” they shouted 
lustily. 

Mr. Abbott rushed to the window. 

“There’s—one—there! In that garden!” he called 
back, equally lustily. 





Country Life 97 

David held up a shoe triumphantly. “I got it. I 
got it!” 

“1 want to find a shoe. Let me find one this time. 
It’s my turn,” Michael called up in protest. 

“O.K. It’s Michael’s turn. Michael, you get the 
other one. It’s—” he stopped short. He couldn’t see 
another. 

“It’s over there! Over by that bush!” Cynthia 
called from another window. Michael scampered, then 
proud as a peacock, held up his prize. 

“Now it’s David’s turn—” 

It was Judy who spied the third shoe. But the 
fourth was missing. The boys ran around the yard, 
searching busily but without success. The fourth 
shoe was gone—entirely and completely gone. 

“That’s a pretty howdy-you-do for you!” Mr. Ab¬ 
bott complained to his wife. “It happens to be your 
other shoe.” 

“You boys stay out there until you find it!” he 
called from the window. 

“Oh!” And Mrs. Abbott put her hand over her 
mouth in dismay. “That last shoe you flung, wasn’t 
mine—it was yours! And it hit some glass,” she 
went on. 

Now Mrs. Abbott leaned out of the window. 

“David!” she called softly. “Come right under the 
window and listen to me. Listen carefully. Look for 
a broken piece of glass somewhere—a broken pane—” 






98 


The Happy Tower 

“I see it!” Judy yelled at the top of her very excel¬ 
lent lungs, from her place beside Cynthia. “It’s that 
cellar window over there—” 

And it was. 

“That,” Mrs. Abbott spoke with great calm, “is 
where your other shoe is, Thomas Abbott. It’s in the 
cellar of the house next door. And since you are the 
one who threw it, I suggest that you call in the boys, 
get dressed and ask the neighbors for it yourself!” 

“Must I?” asked Mr. Abbott, sticking his finger in 
his mouth in very good imitation of Michael. “Must 
I, Mother?” 

“You most certainly must! All your other shoes 
are still packed—goodness knows where,” Mrs. Ab¬ 
bott said severely. But her eyes were twinkling. 

“I don’t want to! Make David go! Make Mike go!” 
her husband continued to tease. 

Mrs. Abbott did not answer. Nor did she have 
anything to say a few minutes later when David and 
Michael came trooping back, and her husband 
emerged from the dressing room fully clothed with 
the exception of one shoe. 

“Well, there’s nothing for it, Mother, but that I 
must go,” and Mr. Abbott pulled down the corners of 
his mouth rebelliously. The children went off into 
squeals of laughter. 

“Higgle-de-piggle-de, my name’s Tom. I call on my 
neighbors with one shoe on!” And, with an exagger- 



99 


Country Life 

ated limp, Mr. Abbott opened the door and marched 
out. The children rushed to the windows, watching 
him pick his limping way across the stretch of lawn 
between the two houses. Then he disappeared into 
the house next door. 

“Isn’t Daddy funny?” Michael giggled. 

“Come now the whole of ye, get dressed,” Delia 
ordered. “And no more nonsense.” 

The children were not downstairs when Mr. Ab¬ 
bott returned, which was just as well, for he was very 
subdued and more than a little sheepish, as he walked 
into the kitchen. “The lady next door did not appreci¬ 
ate the situation as much as your children, my dear,” 
he said to his wife. “In fact, I may say she had no 
appreciation at all! She followed me down into the 
cellar and stayed right with me, watching with an 
eagle eye to see that I didn’t pick up anything but 
my shoe.” 

Mrs. Abbott sighed. “Did you say, eagle-eye?” she 
asked anxiously. She was thinking of her five chil¬ 
dren and the extra one that was soon to arrive. Would 
the lady next door prove to be another neighbor, like 
those in the city, who did not like children? 

“I said—eagle eye! Gimlet eye! Glassy eye! She 
did say one kindly word, though—she hoped we 
would never have as upset a night again. I think 
that was one hope for us, and two for herself. I prom¬ 
ised to have someone come and fix the window this 


100 The Happy Tower 

morning. ‘That’s quite all right. Any time in the 
next day or so will do,’ she said.” 

“Fll get a man to fix it this morning, if I can,” 
sighed Mrs. Abbott. “Now you must hurry and shave, 
dear. Remember you have a train to catch.” 

Mr. Abbott dismissed her suggestion lightly. 

“A train to catch? What’s a train to catch? Be¬ 
sides, my dear, I can’t possibly go wrong this morn¬ 
ing. All trains lead to New York.” 

When he came downstairs half an hour later, he 
found his family enjoying a sociable breakfast in the 
kitchen. “Well, well,” he smiled as he took a seat 
on an upturned box, “all here, all accounted for. 
Happy and gay, for the long summer day.” 

The children grinned appreciatively. 

“Here’s your coffee, dear,” said Mrs. Abbott. “The 
train leaves in—” 

Once more Mr. Abbott airily tossed aside the small 
matter of trains. “Train? Don’t bother your head 
for a moment about my train.” 

Leisurely he drank his orange juice, ate his toast, 
egg and bacon, enjoyed three cups of Delia’s good 
coffee, and with a gay wave of his hand, went out 
into the hall. 

Then the trouble began. “Where’s last night’s 
paper,” he called from the front stairs. “Who took 
last night’s paper?” 


Country Life 101 

Followed by Delia and their mother, the children 
rushed to help. 

“Why must you have last night’s paper, darling?” 
protested Mrs. Abbott. “You can buy a brand new 
one at the station.” 

“Certainly I must have last night’s paper,” ex¬ 
plained her husband in a long-suffering tone. “I didn’t 
get around to Mr. Bungle last night on the funnies 
page. If you miss him one time, you—” 

“Here it is, Daddy,” cried David. “Under the 
davenport.” 

As he tucked the paper under his arm and put on 
his hat, Mr. Abbott cast a reproachful glance at his 
wife. “Under the davenport! Fine place for a news¬ 
paper.” 

Pulling back the front door with a jerk, he halted 
again. “My bag! Heavens and earth, where is my 
bag!” 

Such a time! And if Delia had not thought to look 
on the cellar stairs, no telling when he would have 
gotten to work, Mr. Abbott declared. Then he was 
off, arms flying, black bag knocking against his trou¬ 
sers, legs a blur of running. 

“I like the way Daddy runs,” commented Judy. 
“It’s funny.” 

“Will he do it again tomorrow, Mother?” asked 
Michael hopefully. 


102 The Happy Tower 

Mrs. Abbott sighed. “I hope not, dear. I sincerely 
hope not.” 

She did not know that as long as they lived in 
the country, her husband’s morning departure was to 
take place in just that way. 

When their Mother and Delia had vanished in the 
direction of the kitchen, the children looked hopefully 
into the living room. 

“Maybe we could all help get ready for Peter,” 
suggested Cynthia. “There’s a lot to be done.” 

It was unquestionably true. The living room was 
a jumbled mass of big boxes, little boxes, crates, 
tables, suitcases, and even a trunk or two. 

“Do you know what?” It was David, eyes shining 
with the excitement of an idea. “Let’s play climbing 
the Rocky Mountains. We can be mountain goats 
and—.” 

“Or the Alps or the Himalayas!” cried Cynthia. 
“That big one over there that nearly gets to the ceil¬ 
ing can be Mt. Everest. That’s the highest mountain 
in the world—everyone gets killed trying to get to 
the top.” 

“Boy, that will be fun,” David agreed. 

“Who’s going to get killed?” asked Judy. 

“You can, if you want to,” offered David gener¬ 
ously. 

“Don’t let’s play that!” protested Judy but her 
protest was unheeded. With a shout, the others fell 



103 


Country Life 

upon the mountains, clambering, scrambling, as high 
as they could go, and bleating all the way. Soon even 
Judy joined in. She was content, however, with the 
glory to be achieved by climbing up on a moderate¬ 
sized packing box. 

“Look, Cynthia,” cried David, “here’s the Grand 
Canyon. If you don’t jump right, you land on—” 
And he took a flying leap that put him squarely upon 
the top of the piano. 

Out in the kitchen, Mrs. Abbott and Delia had been 
so absorbed in their search for the dishpan that they 
had not noticed the bleats and shouts of the mountain 
goats. But the leap across the Grand Canyon had 
resulted in too thunderous a landing to be ignored. 

“Gracious, Delia!” exclaimed Mrs. Abbott. “What 
are the children doing now? Tell them to go play 
outdoors. That’s what we moved out here for.” 

Delia arrived at the living room door in high in¬ 
dignation, for the first Grand Canyon leap was being 
followed by others, no less thunderous in their results. 

“Whatever?” she roared. Then her eyes filled with 
horror at the sight of small Patty about to cross the 
Canyon. “Someone get Patty! Get her!” 

The wild scramble for Patty was attended by shrieks 
of pain. “Glory be! I didn’t ask ye to pull her asun¬ 
der. There, there, my lamb! And now, ye spalpeens, 
ye can—.” 

She was interrupted by the loud summons of the 


104 


The Happy Tower 

bell. Cynthia hurried for the front door, and opened 
it upon a pleasantly smiling delivery man who had 
a bottle of milk in his hand. 

“Welcome to our town,” he said to Cynthia with 
gratifying politeness. “Give this to your mother with 
the compliments of the Sunnyvale Dairy.” 

“Well now, isn’t that nice,” said Delia, who had 
followed Cynthia to the door. “And us total strangers. 
I’m tellin’ ye, ye never know what ye’ll find in the 
country.” 

“Cynthia!” shouted David, his eyes again dancing 
with an idea. “Let’s go outdoors and be explorers. 
We can’t tell what we’ll find!” 

It was, Mrs. Abbott and Delia warmly agreed, 
quite the best suggestion David had made in many a 
day. 

“We’ll decide where to keep our pets,” Cynthia 
said, as they all went outside. 

But the arrival of a representative from the Mid¬ 
town Bakery, with a box of cup-cakes—“Compliments 
of—” changed their plan. 

“Maybe it’ll be candy next,” suggested David, sit¬ 
ting down on the top step to eat his cake and looking 
longingly down the street. 

“Or a pet from a pet shop,” Cynthia added. “Re¬ 
member that pet shop on Broadway, David, around 
the corner from us? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if a 
man came along with a sweet little puppy?” 


105 


Country Life 

“Or a bunny,” Judy hoped. 

“Or a goat,” said Michael. 

“There he is now!” shouted Judy. “And I guess 
he’s got a bunny in his hand.” 

But it wasn’t a bunny. It was a plant in a pot, 
compliments of the Greenbrier florist. 

“Only a tiny one,” Cynthia told her mother disgust¬ 
edly when she took it inside. “The front yard has 
lots better.” 

“I’m sure it was very nice of the florist to think 
of me,” said Mrs. Abbott, absent-mindedly. “Put it 
on the table, dear. No, the piano. No, I guess in the 
kitchen on the window sill.” 

When Cynthia returned to the front porch, she 
found her brothers and sisters out on the front walk, 
gazing longingly at an empty house across the way. 

“There’s a good porch over there,” David was 
saying. 

At once the entire group got the idea. They rushed 
across the street, swarmed up onto the porch, and 
were racing gloriously up and down, when a police¬ 
man came by. 

“Hey, you kids—what you doing there?” 

The children stopped in their tracks. 

“Come down off that porch,” the policeman ordered 
firmly. 

More than a little frightened, they obeyed. Then 
Cynthia, separating herself from the others, walked 


106 


The Happy Tower 

bravely toward him. “We’ve just come and we’re 
exploring,” she explained. 

“That may be. But you’re the oldest. Don’t you 
know better than to run on a porch that isn’t yours?” 

“I guess so,” replied Cynthia. “But you see we’ve 
always lived in New York, where there were never 
any porches at all.” 

The policeman’s face softened, and he glanced at 
the other four, who were standing very still in the 
background. 

“You don’t say! No porches. But what you doing 
here?” 

Cynthia turned and pointed in the direction of her 
beloved tower house. “We live there now,” she said. 

The policeman stared, as though the house were 
new to him. “Land sakes alive! You don’t mean it! 
Someone’s in the old Bell house after all this while, 
and a fine family of children at that!” 

“That’s our house, that’s our house,” declared 
Patty, in her favorite sing-song fashion, as she danced 
up to thrust her small hand into his big one. 

“Come here, kids,” the policeman said then, “come 
and sit on these-here steps while I tell you something.” 

The Abbotts crowded around him. “It’s this way,” 
he explained kindly. “I know the fun you have run¬ 
ning up and down a porch—got a handful of kids of 
my own—but even out here, you’ve got to do things 
like that where you belong. See? The lady that owns 


107 


Country Life 

this house doesn’t want anything to happen to it be¬ 
cause it’s got to look nice in case somebody comes 
along like your Ma and Pa did over there and wants 
to live in it, see?” 

Patty wriggled, and Michael solemnly looked across 
the street. 

“But I tell you what,” went on the policeman with 
a grin, “seeing as you’ve just come from New York, 
I’ve got an idea. You go up on that porch, the whole 
five of you, and run up and down and holler to beat 
the band till I say, Stop. I’ll stand right down here 
to see that no harm comes of it.” 

It was joyous, completely, utterly joyous. And 
when, at last, the policeman called, “Stop!” and they 
came trooping down from the porch, he took off his 
hat and with a deep bow said, “Compliments of the 
Elwood Police Force. O’Toole is the name.” 

“Now, then,” Officer O’Toole went on, “seeing as 
you’re all set to be explorers, why don’t you go walk¬ 
ing all around the block to see what there is to see— 
but not up on any porches, mind—then end up in your 
own yard and explore that.” 

“We’ve got to find a place for our goat,” David 
told him. 

“And my bunny,” added Judy. 

Officer O’Toole scratched his head. “You got a 
goat and a bunny already?” 

“Not yet,” answered Cynthia. “But we’re going to 



108 The Happy Tower 

get ’em. That is, our father’s promised us. But our 
mother hasn’t—yet.” 

He grinned. “It won’t hurt to work out where 
you’re going to put ’em if and when. Good day to 
you, the whole five of you.” And the good-natured 
policeman ambled off down the street. 

When Mr. Abbott arrived home that night—mirac¬ 
ulously on the train on which he was expected—he 
approached his home with the thought that he would 
have time before dinner to read the temperature on 
all his thermometers. It was a pleasant plan that was 
not destined to be carried out. For, with a rush and 
a shout, his children were upon him as soon as he 
came up the steps. Such adventures! Such a won¬ 
derful, wonderful place to live! Were they going to 
stay right there the rest of their lives? Please! 
Please! 

“Well, well, isn’t this fine!” he beamed when, at 
length, they were all seated around the dining room 
table—five children’s faces shiningly clean, ten small 
hands well scrubbed. “Now, then, let’s sort this out. 
You’ve had a good day, I see. I want to hear all 
about it.” 

The children gladly obliged. There was the ad¬ 
venture with Officer O’Toole. There was the grove of 
trees down the block, growing in groups so that each 



Country Life 109 

member of the family now had a Tree House of his or 
her own. 

“We stayed there quite a while,” Cynthia told him. 
“It’s just like a Tree Town and you can call out the 
windows and doors, between trees, to your neighbors 
and—” 

“And we’ve decided where to put the goat, Father,” 
put in David. 

Mrs. Abbott, who had been listening happily to 
the animated conversation which was flowing past 
her, looked up in dismay. “What did you say, 
David?” 

Fortunately, Judy remembered something just then. 
“Why isn’t this the country, Daddy?” she asked. 
“Mrs. Adams says it isn’t the country.” 

“And who is Mrs. Adams?” her father wanted to 
know. 

“She’s the woman next door, whose window you 
broke this morning,” his wife told him. 

“To be sure. Mrs. Adams, is it? And what about 
the window, my dear?” 

“It was fixed this afternoon, and—” 

“And I’m sayin’ if it wasn’t for Patty here, it’s 
a pretty pickle we’d be in. Neighbor trouble already, 
but for her,” Delia said darkly, as she brought in 
another plate of bread. 

Mr. Abbott put down his fork. “Please! Remember 


110 


The Happy Tower 

I have had a long, hard day in the city. Won’t some¬ 
one begin at the beginning? Mrs. Adams lives next 
door. Her window, which was inadvertently broken 
by myself, was repaired. Very well. What, then, 
and when?” 

66 Well, you see, Daddy,” said Cynthia in a 
grownup, explaining kind of voice, “when the man 
came to fix the window, we happened to be here, so 
of course we went over to watch him.” 

“Of course,” Delia put in sarcastically, from her 
position beside Mrs. Abbott’s chair. 

“Then Mrs. Adams came out and said, ‘Are you 
all in the same family or are some of you just vis¬ 
iting?’ ” 

“And when Patty said our cousin, Peter Abbott, 
was coming too—Patty always forgets his name is 
Morgan—Mrs. Adams asked us what was that—Peter 
Rabbit?” 

“I can imagine that she said it in a tone of hope,” 
Mr. Abbott commented. 

“And then Patty said, ‘No, he isn’t Peter Rabbit, he 
is just Peter and he is going to live with us’ and—” 

“And I’m telling ye it was God’s mercy, it was, 
Patty said it. For with that Mrs. Adams picked up 
the little angel and kissed her, and said she guessed 
she could stand it, though thank goodness she’d been 
planning all along to go to the country for the sum¬ 
mer.” 



Ill 


Country Life 

“That’s what she said, Daddy,” said Judy. “And 
you said when we came here it was the country, and 
we think this is the country and why doesn’t Mrs. 
Adams call it the country?” 

Mr. Abbott held his head in his hands. Then he 
looked despairingly at his wife. “Can you straighten 
this out, my dear?” 

Mrs. Abbott smiled. “Of course. What it means 
is that even with her window broken this morning, 
and five children running about and shouting, quite 
naturally our neighbor was a bit worried, and I’m 
sure I don’t blame her. Then to be told that a sixth 
was coming, who wasn’t Peter Rabbit but a real boy— 
well, for a moment it seemed almost too much. But 
she must be kindhearted underneath, for she evi¬ 
dently took to Patty, who acted as an Ambassador 
of Good Will. She isn’t going to be like the people 
who lived under us in the apartment house, thank 
goodness.” 

“No telling what she’d be like if she did live under 
us,” said Delia, with a sniff. 

“But she doesn’t live under us, and she is prepared 
to be pleasant—even though she is thankful she is 
going to the country for—” 

“Isn’t this country, Daddy,” persisted Judy. 

“Yes, my darling child. This is the country to us. 
But to Mrs. Adams, who has doubtless always lived 
here, there is country that is more so, which is where 
she is going.” 



112 The Happy Tower 

“But she says she hopes we’ll not go running 
through her garden,” said David. “And I told her 
we’d be very careful, and that when we get our 
goat—” 

“By Jove, my dear!” exclaimed Mr. Abbott, slap¬ 
ping his pocket. “I completely forgot. A wire came 
to the office just before I left. Peter is arriving to¬ 
morrow, not the day after.” 

In the excitement which this announcement stirred 
up, thoughts of the mysterious goat vanished com¬ 
pletely from Mrs. Abbott’s mind. 

Bright and early the next morning, Peter got out 
of the ramshackle taxi, and his five cousins sur¬ 
rounded him, all talking at the top of their lungs. 
And when he tried to walk, his progress toward the 
house was slow for Michael and Patty walked back¬ 
wards directly in front of him; Judy and David be¬ 
tween them were holding onto one of his arms; and 
Cynthia had sole possession of the other. 

“I am going to get a goat and a goat wagon,” David 
shouted into Peter’s ear. But since all the rest of the 
Abbotts were telling their cousin equally important 
news, the announcement was lost in the general din. 

“And we’ve got an attic,” Cynthia’s persistence 
finally won her cousin’s attention. “Look, look, Peter. 
Look up at our tower.” 

Peter stopped at once and looked up. Then he drew 


Country Life 113 

a long, whistling breath. “Gee, that’s swell, Cynthia. 
We can—” 

“Daddy’s going to get my bunnies pretty soon,” 
Judy put in. 

But Cynthia did not mind the interruption. She 
could tell by the expression in Peter’s eyes that he 
felt just as she did, about having a real attic and a 
tower. 

“If you look out one of the tower windows, you 
can see a robin’s nest, filled with baby robins—in 
that big oak tree,” she went on. 

But she could not tell whether Peter heard her or 
not, for just at that moment, he let out a shout of 
special joy. “Oh, Aunt Sue!” he cried as he threw 
himself into his aunt’s arms. “Oh, Aunt Sue!” 

Mrs. Abbott held her nephew close and knew that 
her mother had been right. Peter had been homesick, 
very homesick! “There, there, child,” she said. But 
Peter was too choked to reply. 

In a moment, Michael clamored for attention. “The 
attic has eyes in it!” he squealed excitedly. “The back 
yard has trees in it! The trees have cherries on them!” 

“You aren’t Peter Rabbit! You aren’t Peter Rabbit! 
You aren’t Peter Rabbit!” Patty began sing-songing at 
the top of her voice. And she wasn’t hurt, surprised, 
nor even disappointed that no one paid any attention 
to her. 

“Well, sure and ye are a big boy now!” Delia, com- 


114 The Happy Tower 

ing out the door, announced heartily. “Ye’re a head 
over Cynthia! My! My, now! Ye are almost a man! 
Big for twelve!” 

“You’ve got a room all to yourself!” Cynthia’s 
cheeks were a bright pink. She felt as though she were 
giving the room to Peter, and she could hardly wait 
for the two of them to be alone together in it. Peter 
was so much more grownup than David. She and 
Peter read books—and David never did. It made a 
world of difference! 

“Did you hear what I said about my getting a 
goat?” David asked as soon as they were seated for 
lunch. 

“Your goat!” Peter laughed in a superior fashion. 
David was being funny. “I’ll bite—who got it?” 

“It’s a real goat,” Michael declared. “And I can 
ride in his goat wagon.” 

Peter looked at Cynthia. Were they really going to 
have a goat? For answer, Cynthia tapped her fore¬ 
head with one finger and shook her head. 

“Crazy—that’s all!” she added, for good measure. 

“Moth-er!” David protested, “Moth-er! Tell Peter 
you have heard about my goat.” 

“I certainly have, day in and day out,” Mrs. Abbott 
agreed, and Peter was quick to note a determined glint 
in her eye. Evidently Aunt Sue was not so sure as 
David was, about the desirability of a goat. But there 



115 


Country Life 

were so many other things to ask about that the goat 
was soon left far behind. 

After lunch, Patty was put to bed for a nap, and the 
others crowded into Peter’s small room. Cynthia was 
secretly annoyed, for she wanted to talk to Peter 
alone, but there seemed small chance of it. The 
younger children were holding on closer than sticking 
plaster. Oh, well, she would have her talk, anyway. 

“You know, Peter,” Cynthia began loftily, “this 
house has the most amazing history. It’s practically 
haunted.” 

“I said that first!” David put in. “That’s my idea.” 

“What’s your idea?” Cynthia asked coldly. 

“I said it looked like a haunted house the day we 
got here,” David persisted stubbornly. 

“Well, that’s not what I said at all!” Cynthia con¬ 
tradicted. “I said it was practically haunted!” Cyn¬ 
thia had taken a sudden fancy to the words “prac¬ 
tically” and “amazing.” “And let me tell its history, 
I know all about it. Delia told me—she didn’t tell 
you.” 

Cynthia did not say that Delia had had no idea that 
Cynthia was within earshot when she imparted to Mrs. 
Abbott the information she had gleaned from Mrs. 
Adams, while the window was being repaired. 

“Please keep still, children,” Peter spoke quietly 
and politely. He had been in this house only about an 
hour, and he couldn’t very well assert himself yet. 



116 


The Happy Tower 

“And that means you, David. I want Cynthia to tell 
me the story about this house.” 

David gulped. The idea of putting him in the same 
class with the children! 

Cynthia moistened her lips, and took a long, deep 
breath. “Well, it’s this way. This house has been 
empty for years and years. No one would live in it.” 

“Because it looked haunted!” David put in sulkily. 

“ Please, keep still!” Peter ordered again. His 
words were still polite enough—but his expression 
was less so. “Go on, Cynthia.” 

“A long, long, time ago—” Cynthia went on, her 
back turned on David, “a man lived here who robbed 
lots and lots of people of money. He robbed poor 
widows and orphans of piles of money.” 

“Poor widows haven’t got piles of money,” David 
interrupted crossly. “Nor orphans, either.” 

“Subside!” Peter scowled. He wouldn’t say “shut 
up” until tomorrow. “Go on, Cynthia.” 

“Well, he ran far, far away. And to this day no 
one knows where he is, or where the money is.” 

“Maybe he hid the money in the attic,” Peter sug¬ 
gested. “It’s probably all there.” 

“That’s exactly what I thought,” Cynthia agreed. 
“But there’s a lot more to the story yet.” 

“How could he go far, far away if he didn’t have 
any money?” David jeered. 

“Please shut up!” Peter burst out. Well, he had 


117 


Country Life 

put a “please” before that “shut up,” he consoled him¬ 
self. It would have been much better to keep on being 
polite, at least until tomorrow. But how could he help 
saying “shut up,” when David persisted in being so 
annoying? 

Cynthia gave David a black look. “Well, there’s 
more to the story. This is the most amazing part. 
After this man stole all the money, an old, old woman 
got this house. She got it because the man stole the 
money from her. They gave it to her so she wouldn’t 
get too mad. And I guess she could get plenty mad, 
all right, because everyone called her Old-Lady- 
Witch. Anyway, she owns this house now, and she 
can’t sell it—all on account of the man who stole the 
money,” Cynthia found this part of her own story very 
bewildering, so she rushed by it. “Well, Old-Lady- 
Witch is very, very old. Mrs. Adams told Delia so. 
And they say she lives in a big mansion, all alone 
with the colored mammy she had when she was a 
little girl down South during the Civil War.” 

“The colored mammy must be over a hundred years 
old,” Peter put in. He would not for the world ques¬ 
tion Cynthia’s story, but it was just as well to let her 
know he could figure things out for himself. 

Cynthia nodded. 

“That’s right! And can you imagine, this old, old 
colored mammy sleeps right on the floor every night 
beside Old-Lady-Witch and guards her. Isn’t that 


118 


The Hapjiy Tower 

amazing? What I think is, Old-Lady-Witch won’t sell 
this house, because she knows where the money is 
hidden.” 

“Did the Old-Lady-Witch ever live in this house?” 
Peter asked with a puzzled frown. Cynthia’s story 
was somewhat confusing. 

“No—” Cynthia hesitated. She really didn’t know. 
But rising valiantly to the occasion, she contrived a 
satisfactory ending, not one word of which had Mrs. 
Adams contributed. “But she and her faithful watch- 
dog-of-an-old-mammy used to come here and look 
around when the house was empty. People saw flash¬ 
ing lights in the house at night.” 

“Why didn’t they come in the day time?” David 
snorted. 

“They were searching for the money,” Peter said 
patronizingly. It was what Cynthia wanted him to 
say, he knew. Then he added in excitement, “Say, I 
bet they’ll sneak back some night when we are here.” 

During this puzzling story, Judy had been turning 
her head back and forth, back and forth from Peter 
to Cynthia. There were several words in it which she 
didn’t like at all. But the ones she disliked most 
heartily were “Old-Lady-Witch.” Now she decided to 
go downstairs at once and find her mother. Not wish¬ 
ing to venture away alone, however, she pinched 
Michael’s arm and said, “Come out in the yard.” 

Michael pulled his arm away. He wanted to hear 


more. 


119 


Country Life 

You’ve got a dirty face,” Judy told him, spitefully. 

You ve got to come and wash it.” And she pinched 
his arm again, harder this time. 

Michael let out a loud yelp. “Moth-er—Judy’s 
pinching me.” 

They could hear Mrs. Abbott starting to run up¬ 
stairs, then stopping half way up. 

“Judy! Michael! Come right down here, immedi¬ 
ately. You will wake Patty, and if you do—” she 
didn’t finish, but they knew what she meant. 

Judy gave her brother a triumphant look. She was 
well satisfied. Michael reluctantly followed her out 
of the room, and down the stairs. 

Cynthia, as well as Judy, was well pleased. Now 
to get rid of David! 

“Oh, Peter!” A brilliant idea had come to her in 
a flash. “I just finished Oliver Twist . What did you 
think of Fagin?” Cynthia watched David out of the 
corner of her eye. 44 Wasn’t he awful?” 

“Well,” Peter stretched himself out on his bed, his 
arms under his head, “I think Bill Sykes was just as 
bad.” There was nothing Peter liked better than to 
talk about the characters in the books he read. 

“Did you like Oliver Twist as well as The Tale of 
Two Cities?” Cynthia asked, her eyes still on David. 
“The Tale of Two Cities is my favorite. I love the 
French Revolution,” she went on, “don’t you?” 

David was squirming. He knew right well what 


120 The Happy Tower 

Cynthia was doing. For one thing, she was showing 
off—and for another, she wanted to leave him out of 
the conversation. But there was nothing he could do 
about it. Nonchalantly, he walked over to the win¬ 
dow and looked down into the yard. 

“It’s my favorite Dickens book, all except David 
Copperfield” Peter replied. “That’s my real favorite. 
I saw the movies of it four times, and read the book 
three.” 

Cynthia nodded in a superior way. “Oh, yes, of 
course. David Copperfield is the best.” 

She did not admit that she had not read David 
Copperfield three times, that once was quite enough. 
In fact, she had done some very fancy and skillful 
skipping during that “once.” She did not read books 
the way Peter did, anyway. He read every word— 
every last word! She had seen him reading once, and 
had watched him when he had been interrupted. He 
had put one finger on his last word, holding it down 
tight and fast, as though it might get away from him, 
before he could get back to it! Cynthia didn’t read 
the big, thick, Dickens stories that way at all. Blithely 
she tossed overboard whole pages of words and even 
characters. Dickens did seem to like to describe so 
many queer people—she just couldn’t bother her head 
about them. But when she had finished, she had 
dozens of fascinating pictures in her head. 

Suddenly, David put his fingers to his mouth and 



121 


Country Life 

let a shrill, ear-piercing whistle go through them. Cyn¬ 
thia, he was sure, was trying to annoy him. All right, 
he’d show her. 

But Cynthia was not annoyed. She was immensely 
pleased. “You will wake up Patty, David Abbott, 
and then you will be good and sorry,” she warned 
him piously. 

Sure enough, from below came the prompt call, 
“David, what did I tell you?” 

“Oh, jinks /” David kicked one of the legs of 
Peter’s bed and stalked out of the room. 

Cynthia was delighted. Now she had Peter all to 
herself. 

“Oh, Peter,” she began breathlessly, as soon as she 
heard David running down the stairs, “you will love 
it here. It’s so much more fun than the city. At night, 
you can hear train whistles. It makes you feel so far, 
far, away.” 

“Train whistles?” Peter looked puzzled. Cynthia 
looked as if she thought there was something strange 
and wonderful about them. Peter had heard train 
whistles all his life,—until he even forgot to listen to 
them! 

“Well,” Cynthia faltered, a little disappointed, 
“well, when we lived in the city, I never heard them. 
They make me feel like the country.” 

“They make me feel as though I were going places. 
I’d feel lonesome if I heard one now. I’d think of all 


122 


The Happy Tower 

the cities and places I have been to. Maybe—” Peter 
broke off and then continued with a brighter thought, 
“maybe they won’t make me lonesome, though. I’m 
glad I’m not on a train, I’m glad I am here. Oh! 
That reminds me. Wait till my trunks come, and 
you’ll see the present Grandmother sent me before I 
left the school. It’s a pip! You’ll love it!” 

“What is it?” Cynthia asked eagerly. Now she 
was sharing a secret. 

“It’s a set to make things out of. You make as 
many as you want. There is some lead, and you melt 
it and put it into molds. You can have hundreds of 
cowboys and Indians if you have enough lead. Or 
you can have hundreds of Mickey Mouses—or all 
sorts of things. I have different molds. You change 
a horse into a mouse, or mouse into a horse. You 
could have a rodeo if you want. Then I have a new 
fort. That is I guess it’s a fort or maybe it’s an ancient 
castle. Anyway, it has a moat around it—and a draw¬ 
bridge.” 

Cynthia jumped to her feet. “Oh, Peter, won’t we 
have fun on rainy days! Come on, I’ll show you where 
we can play. Up on the third floor—in the tower 
room or in the attic. Come on, Peter, come on!” 

Tiptoeing despite her excitement, Cynthia led the 
way to the door which was closed on the attic stair¬ 
case, opened it and beckoned Peter to follow. Then, 
carefully closing the door behind him, she tiptoed up 




Country Life 123 

the stairs. She did not want her mother to warn her 
about Patty. 

“Look!” Cynthia pointed, when they had reached 
the third floor and were standing in the doorway of 
the tower room. “Look! 

“It is a tower room isn’t it?” she asked breathlessly. 
“Won’t Grandma love it when she comes?” 

Peter looked about, his own eyes as bright as 
Cynthia’s. 

“She sure will! She’ll feel safe up here. Grand¬ 
mother never feels safe in a hotel room.” Peter looked 
about with vast approval. “It’ll be fun to play here 
sometimes.” 

“But wait! Wait till you see the attic,” Cynthia had 
to gulp in order to talk at all, for her excitement 
seemed to have risen into her throat. 

In a flash she was out in the hall again. Darting 
for the attic door, she opened it with the air and man¬ 
ner of an enchantress leading the way into a dark and 
mysterious realm. 

“Here! Here is the attic!” she said, choked with 
realization of the importance of her announcement. 
“See, it’s a real attic. You have to bend down when 
you get right into it, over in the corners. Be careful 
of your head.” 

Peter followed her, peering around eagerly. Cyn¬ 
thia’s excitement was most contagious. 

“See!” she pointed to the rafters overhead in which 


124 


The Happy Tower 

there were chinks, through which the daylight blazed. 
“Those are the eyes, David and Michael talk about. 
The boys are afraid of them, but they come up here 
just to be scared,” she laughed in a superior way. 
“And there are the trunks. That big one is Grandma’s. 
I do hope we can open it some day. I want to see the 
Czarina dress.” 

Peter was walking about, scarcely hearing his 
cousin. He had ideas. They were coming to him in 
big bunches. 

“Some day, we will have to look for the money,” 
he was saying, talking more to himself than to Cyn¬ 
thia. “The money’s the important thing.” 

“The money?” his cousin echoed. In the excite¬ 
ment of the moment, she had completely forgotten 
her own story. 

“Yes. You know—the money that the man stole. 
This is just the place for a cache,” he declared, his 
brows together in deep thought. This was an interest¬ 
ing speculation. 

“Cash? Cash!” Cynthia repeated, quite confused. 
“Oh, yes—I remember now. But I bet he didn’t put 
the cash here.” 

“Not the cash. This attic is the cache” Peter cor¬ 
rected with an important, but tolerant air. 

“Well—” Cynthia faltered, in a complete muddle 
now, “we can look for it on a rainy day.” 

“He put this money here, for his rainy day and we 


125 


Country Life 

will find it on our rainy day. That’s a good joke. 
Catch on, Cynthia?” And Peter rolled his eyes 
around. 

“Yes!” she agreed doubtfully. “Let’s go down in 
the yard. It’s as hot as fire up here. I am burning up 
to a frizzle.” 

“We’ll have a lot of fun all right when it rains. 
But it sure is hot now,” agreed Peter. 

“I can’t wait! In the apartment a rainy day was 
something just too, too awful,” Cynthia tossed over 
her shoulder as she clattered down the attic stairs 
with Peter at her heels. 



VI 

~ Rabbits ~ 


“Well, well!” Mr. Abbott smiled at Peter that 
night at dinner. “How do you like us here, Peter?” 

“Oh, Uncle Tom—it’s great.” 

“Quite a place,” Mr. Abbott nodded, “quite a place. 
We live on what is called Linden Hill. And coming 
out on the train tonight, a man who lives here in 
Elwood told me that the big estate at the bottom of 
the hill has an old mansion on it that dates way back 
before the Revolution. You might explore it some 
day—” 

“Can you get in the mansion?” Cynthia asked 
eagerly. 


126 



Rabbits 


127 


Well, I really can’t say. There’s a family living 
there in a few of its rooms. They sell fresh vege¬ 
tables. By the way, that proves this is the country, 
doesn’t it? Fresh vegetables grown practically on our 
block. Who says that this isn’t the country?” 

“Oh, Mother, can we go and buy vegetables down 
there?” Cynthia pleaded eagerly. 

“Of course, you can—bushels of them!” Mr. 
Abbott put in, before his wife could answer. “We are 
going to have all the fresh vegetables we can get. 
There is nothing healthier. You can all go down there 
and cart off as much as you can carry.” 

“I know!” cried David. “We’ll use my goat 
wagon.” 

Mrs. Abbott’s fork fell with a clatter on her plate, 
and she stared at her husband in despair. 

“All roads seemed to be blocked these days by a 
goat wagon, my dear,” her husband told her, sheep¬ 
ishly. 

“That’s just what we’ll do!” repeated David, nearly 
bursting with importance. Then he went on, “I’ve 
been wondering and wondering how I could help 
Daddy with my goat wagon. Now I know." 

“I suppose it never entered your head you could 
help me considerably with your Mother, if you forgot 
that ding-busted goat wagon altogether?” Mr. Abbott 
ventured. 

David looked as blank as the wall. 



128 


The Happy Tower 

“Listen, Tom,” said Mrs. Abbott decisively, “you 
must do something right here and now about that goat. 
It’s driving Delia and me frantic. We have it at every 
meal. And a goat is a most unpleasant animal to 
have around your table when you are eating.” 

“Goats don’t smell very nice, do they, Uncle Tom? 
I heard—” Peter spoke up. 

Mrs. Abbott held up her hand. “I don’t think we 
need go further into that aspect of a goat, Peter,” 
she told her nephew. “The important thing is to 
eliminate it entirely from further consideration.” 

One elbow on the table, his chin resting in one 
hand, Mr. Abbott was staring up at the ceiling. If 
this was his lucky day, an idea might come to him at 
any moment! With his fingers he played a little 
piano tune on one cheek. Ah! It was his lucky day! 

Folding his arms and leaning forward intently, he 
gravely addressed his oldest son. “David!” 

David turned his head hopefully. 

“What are you going to be when you grow up? 
What do you want to be? Think —this is a very seri¬ 
ous question.” 

“Why—” David opened his eyes in surprise. “I 
want to be an aviator.” Of course he did! 

“Ump!” Mr. Abbott nodded. “Want to break any 
records?” 

David nodded emphatically—but he was quite con¬ 
fused. 


Rabbits 


129 


“Well! Well!” Mr. Abbott turned to Peter, “What 
do you think of that, Peter? Doesn’t it beat anything 
you ever heard of? Here’s a boy who wants to be an 
aviator—wants to break records—and all he can 
think of at the moment is crawling along the ground 
in a goat wagon. Would you say off-hand that being 
able to hold your seat in a goat wagon would be the 
best training for a flyer?” 

“Why no, Uncle Tom,” Peter answered promptly. 
“Why no—an aeroplane would be the thing to prac¬ 
tise in—” 

Mrs. Abbott held up her hand. “Don’t go from bad 
to worse, Peter,” she warned. 

Mr. Abbott gave his wife a reassuring look as he 
continued to address his remarks to David. “If I 
could persuade you that an aeroplane would be more 
appropriate for a future flying hero than a lowly, 
poky, ancient, out-of-date goat wagon—” 

“Oh, yes!” Peter interrupted excitedly. “I know 
what he’s talking about. Say yes, David. I saw a set 
once. You can make your own plane. It all comes 
cut out—you just put the pieces together.” 

David’s eyes shone. He had never heard of a set 
with which you could make your own aeroplanes, but 
it did sound exciting! Vigorously he nodded his head 
up and down. 

Mr. Abbott let out a long whistle of vast relief, 
and looked at Peter with great respect. He had never 


130 The Happy Tower 

heard of an aeroplane set such as Peter described. 
Indeed, when he had introduced the subject of an 
aeroplane for David, he had quite blindly followed 
an inspiration. Peter certainly had a head on him! 

“Now trust me, David. Something will be done to 
further your ambition to be a flyer, as soon as I have 
a conference with Peter. I will bring home from the 
city the object of your heart’s desire. But on one 
condition. If, between now and the time I get it, you 
say one word about a goat wagon —there will be no 
aeroplane set! But of course you won’t. My, how 
proud your mother and I are going to be of having an 
aviator for a son. We couldn’t very well boast that 
the same son once drove a goat wagon, could we?” 

David grinned and ducked his head. He was satis¬ 
fied. His father had spoken to him as though he were 
as old and as important as Peter. 

“Now, how about my bunnies?” Judy exclaimed. 
“You haven’t said anything about them for a long, 
long time.” 

Mrs. Abbott spoke up promptly. “Of all the pets 
the children have mentioned, I do think a bunny would 
be the quietest and the least trouble.” 

“That’s quite right,” Mr. Abbott agreed heartily. 
He was so enormously proud of his skill in removing 
that bothersome goat from the family that he was 
expansive with good humor. “A bunny now. Then 
later on we can try out some of the others. Someone 
wanted a kitten, didn’t she?” 


Rabbits 


131 


“Me!” Cynthia answered. 

“That’s right—Cynthia wants a kitten. Well, Cyn¬ 
thia—” 

“Let’s start with rabbits!” Mrs. Abbott put in 
quickly. 

“When I was traveling on the road with Mother, we 
had gold fish. Mother carried them with her. They 
are very quiet—” Peter suggested, then added reluc¬ 
tantly, “but not much fun.” 

It was just after dinner a few nights later that a 
ramshackle old Ford rattled up to the curb and 
stopped in front of the house. Mrs. Abbott, who was 
sitting alone on the front porch, eyed it in mild be¬ 
wilderment. An old man got out of the front seat, 
darted to the back of the car, opened the door, leaned 
in and pulled out a big box. 

Mrs. Abbott’s mild bewilderment deepened to per¬ 
plexity. Who was he? And what was in that big box? 
She felt certain she hadn’t ordered anything that had 
not been delivered. As the man came up the walk, he 
took off his hat and bowed politely. Then he held up 
his box confidently—as though something were in it 
which she was expecting. 

Mrs. Abbott stood up. He must be at the wrong 
house. 

“Cool enough now, ain’t it?” the old man remarked 
sociably as he came up the steps. Then, setting his 


132 


The Happy Tower 

box down upon the top step, he grinned broadly. 
“Well, here you are. Just as ordered.” 

“Good evening,” returned Mrs. Abbott, glancing 
at the box. “But I haven’t ordered anything, I’m 
sure.” 

“Not you, Madam—your husband.” 

A conviction of trouble just ahead swept over Mrs. 
Abbott. “Not my husband, I’m afraid,” she replied. 
“You must have the wrong house. We have lived here 
only a very short time.” 

“That’s just what your husband said—a short 
time. I know this house well—it’s the old Bell place,” 
he rambled on, trying to reassure her. Then abruptly, 
he ceased to ramble and spoke tersely. 

“Rabbits. It’s them rabbits your husband wanted 
for your kiddies.” 

“Rabbits!” she echoed in dismay, looking down at 
the box which was surely big enough for a whole 
litter of them! “How many?” 

“Just two! Just two! A Pappy and a Mammy. 
That’s what your husband wanted.” 

“Goodness!” 

“Hey there!” the old man called to someone be¬ 
hind her. “Hey there! Got them rabbits for you.” 

“Peter! Cynthia! David!” It was Mr. Abbott’s 
voice raised high in proud satisfaction. “All of you, 
come! Come from wherever you are!” 


Rabbits 


133 


From around the corner of the house, they came 
tumbling, shouting and laughing. All of them. Every¬ 
one from Peter to Patty! 

Mrs. Abbott walked back to her chair and sat down. 

Mr. Abbott tore the cover olf the box, put one hand 
into it, and brought out a wriggling, brown rabbit. 
He held it up by the ears. 

“That’s the Pappy,” the old fellow nodded. “By 
rights, a hare. The other one’s the rabbit. I had to 
go over to Centerville for that there hare.” 

“What a whoppo!” David screamed. “Oh, boy, 
look at him!” 

“He’s Judy’s,” and Mr. Abbott turned to his small 
daughter. 

Judy, shaking her head vigorously, backed away. 
She never had seen anything twist, squirm, and 
wriggle the way this new pet of hers did! She felt 
sure that if he kept on squirming and twisting and 
wriggling, he’d fly out of her father’s hand, leaving 
his long, furry ears behind him. 

“Take him! Hold him, Judy,” Mr. Abbott insisted. 
“He’s yours.” 

“Cynthia can hold him,” Judy offered, as she stood 
winding up one short pigtail into a snarl around her 
finger. “I’ll let anyone play with him—.” And she 
looked around wildly. 

Peter was on his knees beside the box now, gently 


134 The Happy Tower 

lifting out a snow white rabbit and holding it tenderly 
in the crook of one arm. A spontaneous cry of delight 
from all the others greeted the sight. 

“Oh, Mother! Mother!” Cynthia cried, her face 
aglow. “Look what Peter has! Isn’t it simply ador¬ 
able?” 

Mrs. Abbott stood up with a sigh. Then she went 
over to look at the “simply adorable” little creature, 
which Peter was caressing so lovingly. She had no 
other desire at the moment than to catch her hus¬ 
band’s eye and give him a long look, full of deep 
meaning. But her husband had no wish in the world 
to meet her gaze, and with considerable skill he 
avoided it. He was now sitting on the top step, strug¬ 
gling with the strong, brown hare, which was giving 
him a terrific thumping with its long, back legs. 

The children crowded in on Peter, shouting with 
excitement. Judy’s voice was high above the others. 
“Give it to me. It’s mine! It’s my rabbit!” 

“You don’t know how to hold a rabbit.” Peter 
frowned at his little cousin, and looked down at the 
soft, white, furry creature in his arms. “It’s fright¬ 
ened now. You will scare it to death.” 

“Give it to me! It’s mine!” Judy demanded. 
“Mother, make Peter give me my rabbit.” 

“I tell you this rabbit is frightened,” said Peter 
sternly. “It’s trembling all over.” 

“I don’t see why Judy should have the rabbit all 


Rabbits 


135 


to herself. I didn’t get my kitten—” Cynthia con¬ 
tributed. “Let me hold it!” 

The old man who had brought the box looked more 
than a little taken aback. “I guess I’d better be off,” 
he said, uneasily. “But them bunnies is going to be 
popular. Maybe, too popular—you can’t tell.” 

Mr. Abbott nodded. He had paid the man on his 
way home from the train, a fact he was bitterly regret¬ 
ting at the moment. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry, 
he wouldn’t now have on his hands this big “whoppo,” 
as David had called it. 

“Daddy says the brown one is yours!” Cynthia 
was now informing Judy. “The other one by rights 
belongs to everyone.” 

“I don’t want that brown one—” Judy protested. 
“You can all have him. Give me my bunny,” and she 
launched herself at Peter. 

Peter’s jaw was set. “Aunt Sue!” he cried. “Aunt 
Sue! This poor, little rabbit is scared to death. Judy 
doesn’t know how to hold it.” 

“Give—me—my—bunny!” Judy insisted. 

“I wacky the bunny after Judy—!” cried Michael, 
standing on tip toes and looking down into Peter’s 
arms. 

“There won’t be anything left of him after Judy 
gets through with him.” Peter’s expression was more 
stubborn than ever. 

Mrs. Abbott caught her husband’s eyes at last. 





136 


The Happy Tower 

Then she took Judy firmly by the shoulders. 

“Quiet, Judy!” she said. “Peter will let you stroke 
the rabbit, if you do it carefully. It really is too 
frightened for anyone else to hold just now.” 

Delia came to the door—and stood stock still. 

“For mercy sakes!” was all she could say. 

“That’s right, Delia,” said Mr. Abbott. “That’s 
what we need—a little mercy. My children are try¬ 
ing to dismember one defenceless rabbit.” He arose 
quickly and, crossing the porch to Delia’s side, he 
transferred his burden to her stout arms. 

“You stop that nonsense now, or into a rabbit stew 
you will go!” Delia declared. But she held the fright¬ 
ened hare so securely that it ceased to thrash about 
and lay quietly in her arms, though its eyes still roved 
about wildly. 

“So now, ye be after having pets!” exclaimed Delia 
tartly. “Well, ye’d never know from the sounds that 
came to me in the kitchen that ye were filled with 
joy over them. Sure, and I thought that murder was 
being done!” 

Cynthia turned from the group around the white 
rabbit and said with dignity, “We are happy, Delia. 
And we are going to take good care of our rabbits— 
you’ll see.” 

In the backyard was an old and very dilapidated 
•doghouse. When she first saw it, Cynthia had pleaded 


Rabbits 


137 


to have it carried up to the tower room on the third 
floor. It would, she had insisted, make a wonderful 
doll house, something she had never been able to 
have in the apartment and had always wanted. 

“Gracious no!” Mrs. Abbott had exclaimed when 
she was taken out to view the treasure. “Not in the 
house, Cynthia. It’s old and smelly, and I’m sure any 
number of fleas are making their homes in it. That 
tower room is to be Grandma’s when she comes to 
visit us—and I don’t want her to share it with anyone, 
much less a flea!” 

Looking about for a place to keep their new pets, 
the Abbott children at once saw in the doghouse a 
made-to-order rabbit hutch. In the morning, their 
father told them, they could go to the store and buy 
chicken wire for a “run.” 

There had not been time for Peter to complete the 
errand, however, when—not long after Mr. Abbott 
left for his train next day—the ramshackle Ford 
stopped for the second time at the curb in front of 
the house. The same old man scrambled out of its 
front seat, opened up the back door, leaned in and 
pulled out a box. Whistling off-key, but very cheer¬ 
fully, he carried the box up the walk, and then looked 
about in disappointment. There was no one to greet 
him this time. Whistling a little louder, and a little 
more off-key, he stamped up the front steps. As he put 
one finger on the door bell, he cocked his head. Dis- 


138 The Happy Tower 

tinctly, he could hear children’s voices high, shrill, 
and excited as they came to him from the backyard. 
He grinned, then pressed his finger on the bell and 
kept it there. That ought to bring ’em, he thought, 
with a satisfied grin. It brought Delia in a hurry. 
She opened the door with a bang, then stood still in 
amazement at the words that greeted her. 

“Good morning! Good morning! Daddy sent me 
up with another rabbit. Bought it on the way to the 
train. Says, two rabbits for six children aren’t right.” 

“Glory be!” Delia exclaimed, then stood looking 
at him. Her wits soon returned to her, however, and 
in a rush. “Mrs. Abbott! Mrs. Abbott! Come quick!” 

Mrs. Abbott nearly fell down the stairs at the 
urgency in Delia’s voice. She had been making beds. 
“Oh, what is it? What is it now?” she asked herself. 

“Good morning! Good morning!” the old man sang 
out blithely. “Here I am again!” 

“So I see!” Mrs. Abbott gasped, her eyes riveted 
on his box. “So I see!” 

66 Another rabbit,” Delia hastened to explain. 
“Sure, and Mr. Abbott doesn’t think two rabbits is 
right for six children, so he sent up another. Now, 
it’s three rabbits for six children—one for every two. 
One child can take its head and the other its tail, and 
have a tug of war over it. It will be a quicker and 
fairer way of pulling them unfortunate beasts to 
pieces!” she finished angrily. 



Rabbits 


139 


“Oh, dear me!” Mrs. Abbott laughed weakly. 
“From what I saw from an upstairs window, I wonder 
if there will be three rabbits for very long.” 

“Nothing like pets for kiddies!” the old fellow 
beamed. “That’s what your Daddy says, and that’s 
what I say.” 

“And sure, and that’s what I say —nothing like it. 
Nothing like anything, I am after hearing about!” 
And Delia put back her head, and roared with laugh¬ 
ter. “What a joke—it’s fit to kill me!” 

“This one is the sweetest little fellow you ever saw,” 
said the old man, cheered by Delia’s good humor. 
“Spotty—black and white. You can easily tell him 
from the other two.” 

“Not after them children get after him—ye can’t 
be telling ’em apart—” Delia wiped her eyes. “Well, 
well,” she said, turning to Mrs. Abbott, “ye and me 
has got our work cut out for the morning—here comes 
Peter with the wire—” 

The old man took himself off with a sweeping bow. 
“So long to you! I’ll be seeing you again.” 

“Not,” Delia said under her breath, “if we be 
seeing ye first.” 

Beds, dishes, dusting, ironing, and cleaning were 
of necessity put aside for the rest of the morning. 
Peter insisted that he was the one to make the run— 
but all he actually did was to hand Delia the hammer, 
the nails and the small sticks that had to be used as 




140 The Happy Tower 

uprights. And one thing more—he shot orders in all 
directions to the other children. 

Delia stopped once and pushed the damp curly- 
cues from her forehead. 

“Sure, isn’t Peter going to take after his Uncle 
Tom? He’s got the same way of being handy. Just 
hands ye things and gives orders!” 

Mrs. Abbott laughed. “There’s no good reason for 
his taking after his Uncle Tom—they are not related.” 

“Under the skin they are,” Delia contradicted 
cheerfully. “There’s two kinds of men in odd jobs 
like this, one to do the work, and the other to hand 
out the tools.” 

And although both Delia and Mrs. Abbott had 
serious doubts about the welfare of the pets, they 
enjoyed the morning. 

On the other side of the hedge Mrs. Adams weeded 
in her garden—with occasional glances at the strenu¬ 
ous activity next door. When they saw her evident 
interest the children brought their rabbits for her to 
admire. 

“Do you think you are going to be able to keep 
that wild rabbit in a run?” she asked dubiously, when 
she saw the brown hare. 

“Why?” Cynthia exclaimed in surprise. “He’s not 
wild now. He’s getting tamer every minute.” 

“Perhaps! I do hope you are right,” Mrs. Adams 
replied, showing her upper teeth in a wintry smile. 



Rabbits 


141 


“Are you going to call that big, brown, wild rabbit— 
Peter after the big boy? Patty told me his name was 
Peter Abbott—” 

Cynthia giggled, as she held the big, brown, wild 
rabbit very tightly. 

“Peter’s name isn’t Abbott—it’s Morgan. That’s 
a funny joke. Wait till I tell him! Peter Abbott, 
sounds like Peter Rabbit!” 

“It does indeed!” Mrs. Adams nodded, and she 
returned to even more vigorous uprooting of the 
weeds. 

It was long past noon before the three rabbits were 
put in their run and the children washed their hands 
for lunch. Delia bustled about the kitchen, muttering 
as she went, “Now let them rabbits stay in that run— 
or ye will lose them. I’m warning ye, I saw a big 
dog up the street, and he looked like a hunting dog. 
He’d enjoy playing a real game of hare and hounds 
with that big fellow any minute now.” 

Peter and Cynthia looked at each other in horror. 

“That’s right!” And Peter turned to his small 
cousins. “If that hunting dog gets the scent of that 
hare, it’s good night! No one must ever let that hare 
get out.” 

“Nobody but me . I can let those rabbits get out 
whenever I want. They belong to me.” Judy was 
speaking. She fortunately had joined the others only 
in time to hear Peter’s last sentence. 


142 The Happy Tower 

There was an instant uproar. Everyone protested 
at once, in high and determined voices. 

“Judy makes me mad! 79 David’s voice came up 
over the others. “She doesn’t own all those rabbits! 
Daddy promised me a goat, and I didn’t get it, and 
I was very nice about it. Especially when I didn’t 
get the aeroplane set yet.” 

“And I didn’t get my kitten!” Cynthia frowned at 
her small sister. 

“How would you like to be having that rabbit in 
your arms, Judy Abbott, and have that hound-dog 
chase the two of ye!” Delia put in, giving Peter a 
wink. 

Judy swallowed hard. “Well anyway—” She 
didn’t quite understand what Delia meant. Then she 
went on defiantly, “they are my rabbits.” 

Mrs. Abbott put her hand gently on Judy’s head. 
“Let us say the little white one is yours! And that 
the other two belong to the rest of the family.” 

Judy looked around triumphantly. “Nobody can 
touch my rabbit! Nobody!” 

“I’m going to get some little pets of my own out 
of my allowance,” Peter said. 

Mrs. Abbott looked worried. “What’s that, Peter? 
More pets?” 

“If you send a box top and ten cents, you get 
a little turtle. That’s a nice, quiet pet, Aunt Sue.” 
Peter looked quite smugly satisfied with his choice. 


Rabbits 


143 


“And when I get my allowance next time, I am going 
to get the other one—but that one’ll take real 
money—!” He looked about hoping someone would 
try to guess what would take real money. “It costs 
one dollar and fifty cents.” Such a sum, he felt, 
should completely startle the children. “Boy! That’s 
money!” he repeated. 

“One dollar and fifty cents, whew!” David whistled 
gratifyingly. “Did you say it was little and it cost 
one dollar and fifty cents? By rights, you ought to 
get something big for that—a big whopoo!” 

“What is it?” Cynthia whispered in Peter’s ear. 
He would surely tell her. 

Much as Peter liked Cynthia, he liked making 
people “guess” even more. 

“Guess!” he said with a tormenting grin. “You 
have to guess.” 

They guessed, and they guessed! They guessed 
puppies, cats, canaries, gold fish and parrots. And 
when Peter shook his head at all of those, they went 
on to white rats, monkeys, and ponies. 

“I know!” and David’s eyes brightened. “A goat!” 

“Oh, no, dear,” Mrs. Abbott protested. “We de¬ 
cided against a goat. Besides, your daddy has ordered 
that aeroplane set for you. It is just a matter of time, 
now, and it will be here.” 

“Tell us what it is, Peter, please,” begged Cynthia. 
“Don’t be mean.” 



144 


The Happy Tower 

But Peter was enjoying himself far too much to 
tell his plans just yet. He would not, positively not, 
tell them the name of the unusual pet that was to cost 
one dollar and fifty cents! With a tantalizing swagger, 
he left the kitchen and went out in the back yard. 

All that summer afternoon, the children knelt, sat 
or crouched about the rabbits’ run. And despite Mrs. 
Abbott’s earnest cautioning, and Delia’s ominous 
warning of what would happen if they over-fed their 
pets, the run was soon littered with carrots; cabbage 
leaves; weeds; some very choice leaves from a pretty 
bush that hung over Mrs. Adams’ hedge; small, green 
apples, and unripe cherries. 

The next morning, although there were plenty of 
left-overs, the children diligently gathered more 
“food.” Then they sat near the run, watching the 
rabbits eat. In the middle of the afternoon, however, 
Peter and Cynthia began to feel tired of the rabbits 
and their antics. 

“You know what I want to do!” Peter’s eyes had 
a glint in them, and he spoke directly to Cynthia. 

Cynthia glanced quickly about. Yes, they were 
safely out of earshot of the younger children. 
“What?” She hoped Peter was not going to go on 
with his guessing game. She was ready to do some¬ 
thing—almost anything. 

“Let’s do some exploring.” 

Cynthia jumped up. “Let’s!” she cried, not in the 


Rabbits 


145 


least caring where or what Peter wanted to explore, 
so long as they went somewhere together. 

“Let’s beat it, before the kids notice us.” And 
Peter tore around the corner of the house with Cyn¬ 
thia at his heels. In front of the house, they paused 
to make plans. 

“Do you remember that old house where George 
Washington slept? The one your father told us about? 
And the old slave house? Let’s find them. They are 
down the hill—” 

No sooner said than done. Peter raced down the 
street with Cynthia close upon his heels. Her light, 
brown curls were flying behind her, her gray eyes 
nearly black with excitement. And a bright pink spot 
burned in each cheek. Exploring! That was another 
word she loved! 

They did not stop running until they were winded. 
After they had stood still and had caught their 
breaths, Peter said, “It’s near here—it must be. See 
all those trees and things, the other side of that fence? 
I bet it’s a barbed wire fence.” 

“I bet it is!” Cynthia agreed. “I bet it’s barbed 
wire. Maybe they don’t want us in there!” she gulped. 
“Maybe they will chase us.” 

“I hope they do! It’s fun getting chased.” And 
once more Peter broke into a run. 

Arriving at the barbed wire fence, they stood still 
and eyed it seriously. 



146 The Happy Tower 

“Look! Look! Peter, the fence is broken down 
over there. That’s where we can get in. There’s a 
path—” 

Peter held up the strands of wire, so that Cynthia 
would not tear her dress or tangle her curls. And in 
another minute they were inside. 

“It’s like an enchanted glen!” Cynthia’s voice was 
singing with rapture. “Let’s make believe it really is 
one.” 

Peter nodded. And they said no more as they raced 
down a tangled, almost overgrown path. Brambles 
tore at their legs and hands, but in no time at all, they 
were out in a pleasant meadow of waving grasses. 
“Oh!” 

Cynthia stood still, looking about. This was the 
country! 

“Daisies—and everything!” was all she could find 
breath to say. 

“It would be fun to come down here and build an 
underground hut,” Peter thought aloud. 

“Or look-out up in a tree.” 

“Let’s follow this path!” Cynthia ran ahead. She 
loved the feel of the long, delicate grasses against her 
bare legs. “It must go somewhere.” 

“Don’t let’s tell anyone about it for awhile,” Peter 
suggested. 

Cynthia smiled happily. A secret! An enchanted 
glen that only she and Peter would know about. 


Rabbits 


147 


The path wound around in hairpin curves, and 
tangles of shrubs and groups of white birch shut out 
the view ahead, so they were startled and delighted 
to see, at last, a large mansion ahead of them. They 
were standing at the top of a grassy knoll, and the 
old, rambling house lay in a hollow. At the foot of 
the little knoll, to the left, was a tiny pond. 

Cynthia turned to Peter, her face aglow. 

“I tell you what! Don’t let’s go any farther today. 
We have found the house. That’s enough now, isn’t 
it, Peter? We can come back again.” 

“Yes,” Peter agreed. “We’ve explored and we’ve 
found what we were looking for. And it’s our secret. 
We’ll come back soon, just by ourselves.” 

“Besides, they might have a watch dog!” Cynthia 
spoke thoughtfully. 

“You aren’t like Judy, afraid of dogs?” Peter’s 
voice had a ring of disappointment. 

“Oh, no!” Cynthia protested quickly, “Pm not a 
bit afraid of dogs. I love them. But suppose they 
have a bloodhound? I don’t think—” 

“No!” Peter agreed promptly, “I don’t think I 
would, either—” 

They turned and followed their path back to the 
spot where they had entered their “enchanted glen.” 
Again Peter held up the barbed wire, so that Cynthia’s 
dress and curls would not be ensnared. And when 
they were both once more outside the fence, Cynthia 


148 


The Happy Tower 

drew a long, deep breath of contentment. 

“Well, we found it!” Peter spoke with as much 
pride as though they had just discovered the North 
or South Pole. 

“And we’re not going to tell David, or anyone for 
a while,” Cynthia reminded him. “It’s going to be 
our secret adventure!” 

Peter nodded. “That’s what I said!” 

As they walked slowly up the hill toward their 
home, they talked very little. When they came in sight 
of their house, Cynthia pointed. “Look at our tower! 
I like it. It shines through the trees like—” she 
paused, searching for the right words. “Well, maybe 
like the sleeping beauty’s castle did. Maybe!” 

Peter nodded, content to play Cynthia’s game. 
Cynthia had no more difficulty in believing impossible 
things than did the White Queen in Alice-in-the-Look- 
ing-Glass. In fact, it always seemed to Peter that 
Cynthia was even better at the game of imagining than 
the White Queen. For the White Queen had to prac¬ 
tise believing six impossible things before breakfast 
each day. Cynthia needed no practising. Impossible 
things came naturally to her. 

Just as they reached their lawn, Cynthia turned to 
Peter with a beguiling smile. “What is your pet 
going to be that costs a dollar and fifty cents?” 

Peter had a few seconds’ struggle. He did want to 
hold out a little longer. But there was no resisting 






“Its going to be our secret adventure ” Cynthia said. 




150 


The Happy Tower 

Cynthia at this minute. They had just shared one 
beautiful secret together, hadn’t they? Why not 
another? 

“Well,” Peter began, then looked at his cousin 
anxiously. “You won’t tell anyone?” 

“Cross my heart!” Cynthia crossed herself wide 
enough to include both her lungs as well as her heart. 

“It’s—” Peter paused to give full dramatic weight 
to his announcement. “It’s a baby alligator!” 

“A—what?” Cynthia squealed. 

“A baby alligator!” he repeated, very much pleased 
by the effect of his news. 

Cynthia stared at Peter in alarm. She had seen 
alligators many times in the zoo. But it had never 
occurred to her that an alligator would make a desir¬ 
able pet. Nor did it now—not even a baby one! 

“Are you afraid?” Peter jeered. 

“Oh—no!” Cynthia denied promptly. “I was just 
thinking that they are sort of slippery to pet.” 

“They aren’t really to pet . They’re not sissy things, 
alligators aren’t!” 

“They certainly aren’t!” Cynthia agreed whole¬ 
heartedly. 

“And it won’t be grown-up for two hundred years,” 
Peter went on. 

That was better! 

“Where did you sneak off to?” David’s voice 


Rabbits 


151 


broke in on them. “It’s not fair, going places without 
me.” He was sitting on the top step of the porch 
looking very cross. 

“We were just around!” Cynthia told him airily. 
“Just around!” 

“Not around the house. I looked and looked and 
yelled and yelled!” David grumbled. “You never 
told anyone. You just sneaked,” he repeated in bitter 
complaint. “I’m tired of rabbits. What can they do?” 

“Wiggle their noses!” Peter returned. “That’s in¬ 
teresting to watch.” 

“Where did you go?” David persisted. 

“Around and around the mulberry bush!” Cynthia 
sang. 

“And in and out the windows!” Peter added. 

“You missed it. Delia made a chocolate cake for 
dinner, and I licked the pan,” David told them, and 
then he felt better. 

Cynthia looked up into the blue sky. “Oh, well,” 
she said, “you can’t have everything.” Certainly a 
secret with Peter was better, even, than licking choco¬ 
late off a spoon. 

Only Patty and Judy were faithful to the rabbits 
the next day. 

“Supposing my bunny gets little babies—then 
you’ll be sorry,” Judy told the family at lunch. “Be¬ 
cause all the babies will be mine.” 


152 The Happy Tower 

“For sweet mercy’s sake!” Delia exclaimed. 

“That’s what I’d be calling counting your chickens 
before they was born.” 

“Mother!” Michael protested. “Will all the baby 
bunnies be Judy’s?” 

Mrs. Abbott was really very tired. Getting settled 
had taken much longer than she had thought it would. 
“Please, Michael,” she said. “And please, all the rest 
of you, don’t mention baby bunnies again.” 

That there might be baby bunnies was the only 
interesting possibility that Peter and Cynthia and 
David could see ahead, so far as the rabbits were 
concerned. 

But that afternoon, when the three of them and 
Michael and Judy were playing in their grove of 
trees, Cynthia suddenly let out a squeal of excite¬ 
ment and pointed one wavering finger. The others 
followed her gaze, and finger. There was Patty walk¬ 
ing down the street, and swinging at arms’ length, 
were the two smaller rabbits, one dangling and 
squirming from each hand. 

“Patty!” Peter shouted. As he rushed across the 
street, the others were close behind him. 

Patty did not even turn her head. Continuing on 
her way with a determined air, she clutched the rab¬ 
bits’ ears a little more tightly—that was all! 

Now the others were in front of her, heading her off. 

“Patty Abbott, where did you get those rabbits— 


Rabbits 


153 


how did you get them?” Cynthia demanded sternly. 

“Give me my rabbit,” Judy insisted, firmly remov¬ 
ing her rabbit from her sister’s hands. 

Patty began to howl at the top of her lungs. 

“She couldn’t have taken them out,” Peter said 
with a puzzled frown. “She’s too little to get over 
the wire.” 

“Patty dear, stop crying, please.” Cynthia knelt 
down so her face was level with her small sister’s. 
“Did you take the bunnies out of the run?” 

“No, I didn’t,” Patty sobbed. “They were running 
and running. I catched them—” 

“Oh, glory!” Peter cried, “I know what happened. 
They got out of the run. Come on, everybody. The 
hare must be loose, still. We’ve got to catch him or 
he’ll go off and live in the woods.” 

It was all too true. When they got to the back yard, 
they discovered that the run was empty. Nor was 
there a big, brown hare in sight. Feverishly, a real 
hare and hound game began, with the hounds shout¬ 
ing as they ran, instead of barking. “Here, bunny! 
Here, bunny!” Delia stood on the back porch, calling 
orders in all directions. And Mrs. Adams seemed 
rooted in the middle of her yard, with an expression 
on her face that would be impossible to describe. 

At last, just before dinner, they found the missing 
hare under the porch of the empty house across the 
street. 





Delia stood on the hack porch , calling orders in all 

directions . 















Rabbits 


155 


“That was some round-up—” Peter said with satis¬ 
faction, when all three rabbits were in the run. “But 
I still want to know how they got out.” 

“That,” Mrs. Abbott spoke firmly, “is something 
you must all find out as soon as possible. That is, if 
you want to keep those rabbits.” 

“Oh, Mother!” all six protested in a chorus, “Of 
course we want to keep them.” 

“We’ll sit right beside the run tomorrow and spy 
on them,” David declared. 

“But I guess we’d better hide behind something 
while we spy,” Peter suggested. “They’re smart. 
They probably won’t try to escape if they know we 
are watching them.” 

“That’s a good idea!” Cynthia agreed. Then she 
looked sternly around at her younger brothers and 
sisters. “But you children will have to keep very, 
very quiet.” 

• When Mr. Abbott came home, he organized an 
inspection of the run, inch by inch. There was no 
break in the chicken wire. All the posts were secure. 
Nor were there any holes, dug under the wire for 
exits. 

Mr. Abbott scratched his head. “Doesn’t that beat 
everything?” he said. “There’s no way they could 
get out—but they did. I guess you’re right, Peter. 
Spying is the only way to solve it. But meanwhile, 
we’ve got to make sure they stay put till tomorrow.” 



156 The Happy Tower 

They decided to shut the rabbits in the doghouse 
for the night, with a board across its door, held in 
place with a pile of stones. 

The next morning Peter took command. He had 
planned it all out, he said, just before he went to bed. 
Since no one else had any suggestions, under his 
direction they went down into the cellar and hauled 
up the crates and boxes left over from the moving. 
These were to be barricades behind which they were 
to hide. 

“It could be the American Revolution,” Peter said 
with vast satisfaction. “We are watching the enemy. 
But by rights we ought to have sand bags.” 

And he hopped over the wire into the run, and 
began removing the rocks in front of the board which 
shut the doghouse. As soon as the board toppled 
down, he was over the wire again. Then he signalled 
to the others. And in accordance with his well-laid 
plans, they took their places behind boxes and crates. 
Over the top of each was a pair of watchful eyes. 

Out of the doghouse hopped the big, brown hare. 
He looked around sniffing, then decided to eat his 
breakfast of left-overs. For Peter had argued that if 
the rabbits found nothing special to eat in the run, 
they would want to get over, through, or under the 
wire—whatever it was they did. 

Judy’s rabbit and the little spotted one tumbled out 
of the doghouse together. And quite contentedly the 



Rabbits 


157 


three of them were soon nibbling away at the left¬ 
overs with an air of slow determination and satisfac¬ 
tion. Hopping from one cabbage leaf to another, it 
seemed as though they had no other desire or interest 
in the world. 

Judy wriggled with impatience. She wanted action. 
She had been watching those rabbits nibble on cab¬ 
bage leaves for hours and hours, so it seemed—and 
it had ceased to give her the slightest thrill. 

“When are they going to do it?” she asked in a 
loud whisper. 

“Keep still,” Peter ordered sharply. 

“That’s what I say!” and David glared at his sister. 
This new game was fun! 

At the moment, Cynthia shared her sister’s feel¬ 
ings. Waiting in silence was trying her patience 
almost as much as it did Judy’s. She didn’t mind 
being alone by herself, without anything special to do. 
She could think what she wished then. But this was 
different. She had to keep watching those three 
rabbits eating every snip of cabbage, carrot or blade 
of grass in sight. She couldn’t think at all. 

Suddenly Patty pulled herself to her feet, only to 
be pulled abruptly back by Michael. She sat down 
with a thud, and opened her mouth for a howl. But 
Peter, like a general marshalling his forces, motioned 
Cynthia to put her hand over Patty’s mouth. It was 
an attempt that did not have the happiest of results, 


158 The Happy Tower 

for Patty promptly started to kick out in all directions. 

“Glory! He’s going to do something!” It was 
Peter, speaking in a tone that sent delicious shivers 
of excitement up and down their spines. Even Patty 
stopped kicking and bobbed up to see what was hap¬ 
pening. 

The big, brown hare was at the far end of the run, 
backed against the wire. Peter was right. The hare 
was going to do something. 

He did! Like mad, with huge leaps and bounds, he 
tore down the length of the run. And when he reached 
the far end, up he flew into the air and over the wire he 
went. 

Five Abbotts and one Morgan shouted at the top of 
their lungs and made a dash for him. Peter, out in 
front, fell flat on his face as he dove for the hare. 
But he caught one of the animal’s back legs in his 
grasp as he went down. 

“I got him,” he yelled proudly. 

“Now, look!” Cynthia shrieked. “Look! Look at 
the other two. That hare’s taught the other bunnies 
to do the same thing!” 

Sure enough, the two small rabbits had gone to the 
end of the run, backed against the wire—and were 
now tearing to the other end, exactly as the hare had 
done. Over the wire flew Judy’s rabbit first, then the 
little spotted one. It was a matter of moments before 
they, too, were caught and Mrs. Abbott and Delia had 
joined the triumphant spies. 



Rabbits 


159 

“Whew!” Peter let out his breath. “That's some¬ 
thing, I tell you! Now we’ll have to have a much 
higher wire. That’s all there is to it.” 

With the rabbits shut safely in the doghouse, Peter 
and Cynthia went to get the wire, and soon came back 
with an ample supply. 

“Making a run was rather fun the first time,” Mrs. 
Abbott told Delia, as they laid aside their household 
tasks to begin all over again. “But this is a nuisance. 
So far as I am concerned, the rabbits can—” There 
was no need to say more. Picking up the hammer, 
Delia nodded grimly. 

Later in the day, they all had the keen satisfaction 

of watching the rabbits make any number of attempts 

to leap from the run, and fail each time. The wire 
§ 

was too high for them. 

Mr. Abbott was more than pleased with their 
achievements. “You, Patty, were right on the job to 
catch the rabbits when they got out, in the first place. 
You, Peter, planned your campaign in masterly fash¬ 
ion. All the rest of you joined in to build a most 
excellent barricade as the base of your spying opera¬ 
tions. And you were alert and quick when the crisis 
was upon you. I, myself, could not have erected a 
more workmanlike second-storey to the run than did 
my most excellent wife and the good Delia.” 

“I only hope that now they stay put,” Mrs. Abbott 
put in. 

“Stay put!” replied her husband. “Certainly they 


160 The Happy Tower 

will stay put. They may be bright, smart rabbits, but 
they have only rabbit brains after all. Not to be 
mentioned in the same breath, my dear, with the skill 
and the ingenuity and the intelligence within the 
heads around this dinner table. I am proud of us. 
We come to the country where we have never lived 
before, and we know exactly what to do in any emer¬ 
gency!” 

The next afternoon, when the children had once 
more departed for the grove and Mrs. Abbott was 
sitting at the kitchen table making out a grocery list 
for Delia, there was an insistent rat-ta-tat at the back 
door. It was Mrs. Adams. 

“I thought very likely you would like to know 
where your two little bunnies are,” she said. “The 
children would be distressed to lose them, I am sure. 
They are in my petunia bed, and are eating up my 
seedlings.” 

Mrs. Abbott gasped in dismay. “Oh, dear—Oh, 
dear! Delia! Delia, come quick! Go to the front 
door and call all the children. Tell them to hurry and 
help catch the rabbits.” 

“Do you think it will be necessary to call all the 
children?” Mrs. Adams asked, anxiously. “If all of 
them chase back and forth over my garden. I’m 
afraid—.” 

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Abbott agreed hastily, “It wouldn’t 


Rabbits 


161 


do at all to have six children running over your 
garden—. Delia, tell only Peter, Cynthia and David 
to come.” 

Mrs. Abbott followed Mrs. Adams out into the 
back yard, with despair in her heart. How had the 
rabbits gotten out this time? Oh, dear. . . . 

Mrs. Adams hurried ahead, and, as she went 
through the hedge, Mrs. Abbott was just behind her. 
“Here, bunny! Here, bunny!” they coaxed. “Come, 
bunny. Come, bunny.” 

With serene indifference, the two rabbits continued 
to nibble the petunia seedlings. 

Then Mrs. Abbott completely lost her patience. 
“They are the stupidest animals!” she said, her voice 
shaking with exasperation. 

For answer, both rabbits hopped out of the petunia 
bed and settled down in a row of delphinium seed¬ 
lings. 

“Oh, my goodness! My best flowers!” Mrs. Adams’ 
voice was high and shrill. “Get out of there! Shoo! 
Shoo!” And she charged violently upon the rabbits, 
beating her skirt up and down. “Shoo! Shoo!” 

“Peter!” Mrs. Abbott called, despairingly. “Cyn¬ 
thia! David! Where are you?” 

The two women chased the rabbits out of the row 
of delphiniums—and into a rose garden—out of the 
rose garden into the delphinium row once more—out 
of the delphinium row back into the petunia bed. 



162 The Happy Tower 

The air was filled with frantic cries. “Shoo! Shoo, 
bunny!—Here, bunny! Peter! Cynthia! David! 
Shoo, bunny! Get out of there! Come, here! Shoo!” 

At length, Mrs. Abbott stood still, panting and 
gazing in the direction of her house. 

“Where are those children! Delia!” 

Around the corner of the house, six children came 
racing and shouting. Behind them, urging them on, 
was Delia, red-faced and determined. 

“I had to let the whole of ’em come, Mrs. Abbott. 
They—” 

“Get those rabbits! Quickly!” Mrs. Abbott ordered 
sternly. 

The din was almost deafening for the next few 
minutes. “Get him!” “Get him!” “Here, bunny!” 
“Shoo, bunny!” Until at last, the two rabbits were 
captives once again. 

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” Mrs. Abbott said 
to Mrs. Adams, as the procession led off in the direc¬ 
tion of the run. “Your lovely garden! We have 
always lived in the city, you see. Perhaps we shouldn’t 
try to have pets, at all.” 

“No, I wouldn’t say that was it,” replied Mrs. Ad¬ 
ams. “Pets are all right. They just take a lot of 
looking after.” 

“Like children,” said Mrs. Abbott, and her lips 
trembled as she said goodbye and walked through 
the opening in the hedge and toward the rabbit run. 



Rabbits 


163 


How the rabbits got out had already been discov¬ 
ered. “Look, Aunt Sue!” Peter called excitedly. 
“They didn’t go over the wire, but they dug a hole 
under it.” 

“Of course! Rabbits do go down rabbit holes—” 
Cynthia cried. “Do you remember Alice-in-Wonder- 
land?" 

Mrs. Abbott ran toward the back porch steps and 
sat down. “Let me think!” she said, weakly. “Let 
me think!” 

“Be off with ye!” Delia ordered, “Yer mother wants 
to think—and faith she’s got plenty to think about— 
what with them bunnies, and a next door neighbor that 
turns out to be a first cousin to them people who lived 
under us at the apartment.” 

“Oh, no, Delia,” protested Mrs. Abbott. “She is 
very kind. She told me—” 

“Sure, there’s a many a thing I know without being 
told. I have second sight, hindsight and foresight. 
Now will ye off? Ye all had such a passion for them 
trees a few minutes back, I had to fair drag ye all 
away from them by the hair of yer heads. Yer 
mother has got to do some real hard thinking.” 

Reluctantly, and with dragging feet, the children 
turned to go back to their trees and the games they 
had been playing among them. 

“Wouldn’t it be awful if Mrs. Adams was really 
a first cousin to those people who lived under us at 



164 


The Happy Tower 

the apartment?” Cynthia was walking sideways, her 
eyes over her shoulder. “You have no idea, Peter, 
what crabs they were. We could never do one thing 
—hardly breathe. They were always complaining— 
and complaining and complaining from morning to 
night.” 

Peter looked properly impressed. 

“I bet they are related. It sounds that way.” He 
accepted the news with mournful pleasure. 

That night, Mr. Abbott rushed up the steps and 
dashed into the house shouting, “Hey, there! Hey 
there, everyone!” 

There was something so urgent, so demanding in 
his voice, everyone promptly obeyed. From upstairs, 
from the living room, from the cellar—that was Delia 
—all came running. 

Mr. Abbott was standing in the hall, looking fran¬ 
tically about. 

“What is it?” gasped Mrs. Abbott, her face white. 
“Glory be!” Delia echoed. “Whatever—?” 

“Are you all here—every last one of you?” asked 
Mr. Abbott. “Everyone?” 

“Oh, Tom!” Mrs. Abbott pleaded. “What is it?” 

“Where are those rabbits?” he asked, in a low, but 
very impressive tone. “Where are they now—and who 
handled them today?” 

“The rabbits?” Mrs. Abbott repeated blankly. 



Rabbits 


165 


“Listen to me. Those rabbits must go! I just heard 
today that if by any chance those rabbits were to get 
sick, we could all catch a deadly fever from them— 
rabbit fever! You never heard of it, of course. I 
never did myself, until today. Do you understand? 
It is deadly! Those rabbits must go!” And he looked 
sternly at his wife. 

All Mrs. Abbott could answer was, “Oh!” Just as 
though for hours, she hadn’t been hoping, planning, 
scheming to do just that! The rabbits must go, indeed! 

“The Lord moves in a wonderful way his miracles 
to perform,” Delia said piously. “There ye are, chil¬ 
dren, listen to yer daddy. Sure, didn’t I be telling ye 
this very afternoon that them rabbits was poison, and 
now yer daddy’s taken the words out of my mouth 
again.” 

All through dinner, they discussed it. And so well 
did Mr. Abbott describe the dire effects of rabbit 
fever, that even Judy made no protest against parting 
with her pets. 

The next day, rabbits, doghouse and the run disap¬ 
peared in the old man’s ramshackle car. And for 
two days, the children had no pets. On the third day, 
however, the postman brought “Oscar.” Oscar was 
a turtle the size of a twenty-five cent piece. Peter, his 
real owner, was generous about sharing him, and all 
went well for over an hour. Then Oscar suddenly dis¬ 
appeared ! 


166 The 'Happy Tower 

Where was he? Who had him last? Peter thought 
Judy had had him. Judy said Michael had, Michael 
vowed David had, David declared Cynthia was the 
guilty one. Cynthia stormily protested she hadn’t had 
him for five minutes. Charge and counter charge! 
Only one voice was still—Patty’s. Patty said noth¬ 
ing. She neither denied she had had Oscar, nor 
claimed she had seen anyone with him. She walked 
about with solemn hazel eyes, her mouth clamped 
tightly shut. 

Suddenly Peter turned fiercely on his small cousin. 
< 4 Patty, did you see Oscar?” 

Patty gulped and tears came to her eyes at Peter’s 
tone. 

“Patty, what have you got in your mouth?” Cynthia 
demanded. 

At that, Patty started to run away, but Cynthia 
caught her by her two shoulders. “Patty Abbott, what 
are you eating? Have you taken something from the 
kitchen?” 

Patty opened her mouth to let out a howl of denial. 
And Oscar was found. Patty had him in her mouth! 



Michael 

VII 


~ New Friends ~ 

That afternoon, after the excitement of Oscar’s 
disappearance had died down, Cynthia wandered 
about looking for amusement. Peter had been sent 
to his room with a firm command not to leave it 
until he had written a letter to his grandmother. Mrs. 
Abbott insisted that he must not, simply must not 
put off the letter another moment—and Cynthia knew 
that when her mother spoke in that tone, protest was 
useless. This was indeed a very different state of 
affairs from that not far distant one, when Peter had 
been eagerly, though forlornly, writing to his grand¬ 
mother every day. Too many exciting things hap¬ 
pened from the moment he got up in the morning 

167 


168 


The Happy Tower 

until the time he went to bed at night. He no longer 
had time for letters! 

Cynthia glanced down the street. Yes, the younger 
children were playing among the trees. It would be 
a good time to read the book Mrs. Adams had lent 
her. Going up into her room, Cynthia curled up on 
her bed. The book was very old and it was all but 
falling apart. Cynthia looked at it curiously. 

It was queer about Mrs. Adams, she thought. Delia 
kept saying over and over that their neighbor, mark 
her words, was like the folks downstairs in the apart¬ 
ment in New York. But last night, when Mrs. Adams 
had come to the hedge to ask what had become of the 
rabbits, and they had told her about the rabbit fever 
and the rabbits going away, she had been most 
friendly. 

“Do you like to read?” she had asked. 

When Cynthia had answered enthusiastically, Mrs. 
Adams had become very friendly. “I have a very 
good book that I would like to lend you, if you wish. 
You can read it yourself, then perhaps your brothers 
and sisters would like to have you read it out loud 
to them.” 

“Here you are!” she said after she went into the 
house and returned with a book in her hand. “I had 
this when I was just your age. It did me a lot of 
good.” 

Cynthia was so interested in trying to see the title 


New Friends 169 

of the book she did not hear the last, hopeful state¬ 
ment. 

The book was called The Wide , Wide World. “Is 
it a travel book?” she asked politely, trying to hide 
her disappointment. She did not like travel books, at 
all. 

Mrs. Adams looked surprised. “Good gracious, 
no! Haven’t you ever heard of The Wide , Wide 
World? It is a very beautiful story about a little girl 
named Ellen Montgomery. And it is very sad in 
places.” 

Cynthia’s eyes brightened at once. “That’s nice! 
I like to cry over books. Some of Dickens’ are aw¬ 
fully sad.” 

“Do you read Dickens?” exclaimed Mrs. Adams. 

Cynthia nodded proudly. “Oh, yes. After I saw 
David Copperfield and The Tale of Two Cities in the 
movies, I read them right away. Then I read some of 
the others.” 

Mrs. Adams had told the truth when she said The 
Wide, Wide World was sad. 

Now, then—and Cynthia curled herself still more 
tightly upon the bed. It was sad almost from the first 
page, and as Cynthia read on, there were times when 
she could scarcely see the printed page for her tears. 
On and on and on she read. She forgot that Peter 
should long since have been able to finish his letter, 
and that with the children off in the grove, the time 


170 The Happy Tower 

was opportune for more exploring in the enchanted 
glen. 

On and on, until—“Cynthia!” her mother called 
from below. “Cynthia!” 

Cynthia did not reply. 

“Cynthia!” The voice was nearer this time. But 
again Cynthia did not answer. 

Now Mrs. Abbott was at the door of her daughter’s 
room. And although there was still no answer to her 
summons, she could hear the sound of sobbing inside. 

Mrs. Abbott threw open the door and hurried in. 
“Why, Cynthia, darling! What is it? Are you sick?” 

Cynthia attempted to reply, but her effort was lost 
in gulping sobs. 

Mrs. Abbott was greatly frightened. “Cynthia, 
please tell me. Shall I send for the doctor?” 

With a valiant effort, Cynthia controlled her sobs 
enough to say, “They—won’t—let—Ellen—Mont¬ 
gomery—read—the—Bible—” 

Mrs. Abbott stared at her daughter in silence. Then 
a quick gleam shot into her eyes and she spoke dryly, 
“I see. It’s the book Mrs. Adams gave you to read. 
Well, my dear, you can’t say that your own parents 
have ever treated you as unjustly as, apparently, Ellen 
Montgomery’s did. Come now, daughter. Get up and 
wash your face.” 

As Cynthia put down her book and began to un¬ 
curl, Mrs. Abbott turned her face away. So Mrs. 




New Friends 


171 


Adams had had a real motive in lending Cynthia The 
Wide, Wide World! Well, she had at least succeeded 
in her purpose to the extent of keeping one of the 
six children quiet for the greater part of the after¬ 
noon! 

“Where’s Peter?” asked Cynthia, returning from 
the bathroom. 

“Oh, that reminds me, Cynthia. Did you put Oscar 
in the saucepan on the stove? Delia says she might 
have cooked him up in the soup for dinner, if she 
hadn’t happened to look.” 

“I didn’t do it, Mother. But I’ll get him. Where’s 
Peter?” 

“He finished his letter nicely, and then got a book, 
too. He’s been reading in the hammock —Huckleberry 
Finn” 

Cynthia slid down the bannisters. Huckleberry Finn 
was one of the books she had planned to read with 
Peter. But Peter wasn’t in the hammock, nor in the 
kitchen, whither Cynthia went to rescue Oscar. 

“Sure, and how would I be knowing where he’s 
gone?” Delia replied in answer to Cynthia’s inquiry 
about her cousin. “Maybe he got it into his head 
he’d do what his aunt was after telling him to, and 
went to the post office to mail his letter. Strange things 
do be happening once in a while, and children up 
and do what they’re told immejitly.” 

“I’ll go look for him, I guess.” 


172 The Happy Tower 

And that was really the way the most exciting ad¬ 
venture of the entire summer started. Less than an 
hour after she had left, Cynthia returned with cheeks 
burning in excitement. She had made new friends, 
right there in Elwood. The first one in the family 
to do it—and such thrilling friends, too! Wait till 
Peter heard about her experience. That was just what 
she had had—an experience! 

When she saw Peter, however, her eager steps 
slowed down. For Peter was sitting on the top step of 
the porch, sucking a lollipop. Peter was not very 
generous about a good many things, and when it 
came to buying candy, at least half the time he forgot 
to pass it around. This was a real fault which Cyn¬ 
thia had loyally been doing her best to overlook. 

But for him to do it now, when they had a secret 
together, seemed genuinely insulting, especially when 
the candy was a lollipop. Sometimes she held her 
lollipop in her hand and waited for Peter to get a 
head start, so that they would come out even. But it 
never worked out that way. There was just no gaug¬ 
ing the length of time it would take Peter to demolish 
a lollipop down to its bare bone of a stick. 

Looking at Peter now, Cynthia decided that he 
needed a lesson. Not for anything in the world would 
she tell such a selfish person her exciting news, espe¬ 
cially to the maddening accompaniment of smack , 
smack. She would wait until tomorrow, when they 


New Friends 


173 


were all together. That Peter knew nothing whatever 
about her news, and so could not possibly consider 
this a slight, did not occur to her. Nor did he seem 
at all upset when, sitting down beside him, she did 
not inquire what he had been doing. Calmly and with 
all the smacking that Cynthia had foreseen, he contin¬ 
ued to enjoy his lollipop. 

But next morning, immediately after breakfast 
when the children were lined up on the steps of the 
porch, Cynthia stood up and made her announcement. 

“I was talking to a very, very nice boy yesterday,” 
she began in a voice which cracked with importance. 
“He lives near here. In fact, he lives right behind us. 
His yard touches ours.” 

“How old is he?” asked Peter indifferently, as 
though it were of no special importance. 

Cynthia bristled. “He’s twelve ” she replied hotly. 
Peter couldn’t say being twelve wasn’t important. 
“He’s twelve and he’s a boy." 

“What’s his name?” David asked, obviously im¬ 
pressed by this new friend—but really not altogether 
pleased. He felt sure that Cynthia and Peter would 
claim the stranger at once, leaving him, David, out in 
the cold again. 

Cynthia hesitated. It was the question she was 
dreading, the one she had planned to avoid until much 
farther along in her story. 

“What is it?” persisted David, quick to notice his 



174 


y-,^ 

The Happy Tower 

sister’s hesitation and to take advantage of it. 
“Percy?” 

Cynthia frowned, then decided to ignore David. 
“He was telling me about the school we’ll go to in 
September,” she said quickly. “That is, where Peter 
and I’ll go. It’s a Junior High School.” 

“High School!” David retorted scornfully. “You 
won’t be going to any High School when you’re only 
eleven.” 

“Well,” Cynthia admitted, “maybe not in Septem¬ 
ber. But in February I will. I’ll be twelve then. 
Mother says Peter and I will be in the same class.” 

“What’s February?” mocked David. 

“February is February,” Cynthia retorted, color 
spreading across her cheeks to the curly tendrils of 
her hair. 

“Go on, Cynthia,” Peter interrupted. “Tell us 
some more about this fellow!” 

“He knows a lot of things we’ve been wishing some¬ 
one would tell us—about the old place, you know.” 
She told Peter this news with a significant wriggle 
of one eyebrow which completely excluded David. 
“You know, the old place. The before-the-Revolution- 
place.” And she blinked her eyes to indicate that she 
was telling Peter something which there was no need 
to put into words. 

Peter was instantly interested. “Yes, Cynthia,” his 
nod seemed to say, “I understand. I do, indeed.” 


New Friends 


175 


David and Judy looked from Peter to Cynthia and 
from Cynthia to Peter. What was all this about, any¬ 
way? David was annoyed. And immediately he 
repeated his question. “What’s his name?” 

“He told me the most exciting things about it,” 
Cynthia continued, pleased that she had won Peter’s 
interest and approval. 

“What is his name?” David hung on to his question 
grimly. 

“Oh, keep still, David!” Peter frowned. “I want 
to hear what Cynthia is telling me.” 

“She isn’t telling you anything. She’s only making 
faces. I bet she doesn’t know his name.” 

“Go on, Cynthia,” Peter ordered, “and, David, if 
you interrupt again, I’ll shove you down the stairs.” 
Peter thrust out his foot in a highly suggestive manner. 

“What’s his name?” echoed Judy. 

“Oh, you might as well tell it, Cynthia,” Peter con¬ 
ceded. “Then these kids will stop pestering us.” 

Cynthia looked altogether miserable. 

“His name,” she answered slowly, and with great 
reluctance, “is Agnes.” 

David broke into a loud shout and his whole body 
shook with laughter. He rocked back and forth—so 
violently that he nearly knocked Michael down the 
steps. Whereupon Michael, who had been listening 
with open mouth and round eyes, loudly joined in. 
It was highly contagious laughter, for without under- 


176 The Happy Tower 

standing what it was all about, Judy and Patty both 
squealed with high glee. 

Cynthia had known this would happen—had 
dreaded it from the start. 

“It couldn’t be, Cynthy, it couldn’t be,” Peter said 
kindly. “Don’t pay attention to them—they don’t 
know what they are laughing at.” 

“I do so!” David got up and went down on the 
grass, rolling over and over, with continued roars of 
laughter. 66 Agnes. A boy with the name of Agnes!” 

“Well, that’s what he said, and he ought to know 
his own name,” Cynthia snapped. 

“Keep quiet!” Peter shouted at David. Then he 
turned to Cynthia. “Listen, Cynthy—Agnes is a 
girl’s name.” 

When Michael and Judy heard this, they shrieked 
with wicked joy. They hadn’t understood before why 
Agnes had been so very, very funny. It was a little 
funny of course—all strange names or words were— 
but not funny enough to cause David to go off into 
such spasms of laughter. But a girl’s name! 

“I know it!” Cynthia answered Peter. “But that’s 
what he said.” 

“Well—!” And Peter whistled. Then he glanced 
at Cynthia and decided to change the subject. “What 
color was his hair?” 

“Yellow,” Cynthia answered, in a very low voice. 




New Friends 


177 


It was the last, the very last straw. Even loyal 
Peter could barely refrain from showing his con¬ 
tempt. 

“He’s a sissy. He’s a sissy! Yellow hair—and his 
name is Agnes, oh gee!” David hooted, and rolled 
over and over on the grass again. His sides ached 
with laughter. This was an occasion! It wasn’t often 
that he had such a joke on his big sister. 

Cynthia glared at him. 

“Judy,” she ordered, “go and tell Mother that 
David is rolling all over the place where she planted 
the grass seed.” 

Judy scrambled to her feet in delight. To be in 
the center of any kind of argument was joy enough, 
but now she had her own part to play. 

“Moth-er! Moth-er!” she called lustily. “Davy’s 
rolling on your nice, new grass seed.” 

“Go into the house, Judy, she can’t hear you,” 
Cynthia commanded. 

Judy disappeared into the house, shouting as she 
went. 

Cynthia turned to Peter desperately and spoke in 
a low voice. “He isn’t a sissy, Peter. Honest. He’s 
quite big—and he knows all about that old house. 
He told me all sorts of exciting things about it. He 
and his brother are building a hut down there—you 
know where!” And she lowered her voice until it was 
a mysterious whisper. 



178 The Happy Tower 

Peter nodded approvingly, but a little patroniz¬ 
ingly. After all, Agnes! 

“Did he say what his brother’s name was?” he 
whispered cautiously. 

Cynthia groaned inwardly. This was awful . Simply 
awful. 

“Well—” she hesitated, then went on miserably. 
“I guess I got it wrong—but I think it was—” 

“What?” Peter shaped his lips with the question, 
but did not say it aloud. His eyes were on David who 
was now sitting upon a spot just beyond where the 
“nice, new grass seed” was planted. David stared 
back suspiciously at his cousin and his sister. What 
were they talking about? 

Cynthia’s shoulders drooped. “I think he said— 
Alice,” she said from behind her hand. 

Peter stared at her. Then the loyalty, to which he 
had so stoutly held, crumbled in a heap. It was too 
much! David’s laughter at its wildest was no match 
for Peter’s then. He hooted, shouted, roared and 
rocked. He laughed until the tears rolled down his 
cheeks. And even then he didn’t stop. 

Though he hadn’t overheard this latest piece of 
news, David joined in, with Patty and Michael de¬ 
lightedly adding their own squeals of delight. 

It was more than anyone could bear. Indignantly 
Cynthia moved toward the steps. She wouldn’t stay 
there another minute. She would go up to her room 


New Friends 


179 


and read The Wide , Wide World . Perhaps when she 
had finished it, if she were to come down and stand 
by the hedge, Mrs. Adams would invite her over for 
a tea party. 

“Lookit!” Michael called suddenly. “Lookit 
there.” 

Cynthia whirled about and gasped. Coming up the 
walk was a sturdy, blonde-headed boy of twelve, with 
a broad grin on his face. 

“Hello there!” this stranger shouted, not in the 
least disturbed by this cool reception. “Here I am. 
I couldn’t get over sooner.” 

Cynthia, utterly miserable, could not reply. Then 
with a swallow, she stuttered, “Hello, hello.” 

Her new friend sat down, uninvited, on one of the 
steps of the porch, and looked with friendliness into 
Peter’s face. 

Peter felt himself weakening. This boy was a 
blonde, it was true, very blonde, and what was more, 
his hair was curly, but there was something so likable 
and real about him, that before Peter realized what 
he was doing, he had grinned back. 

“Well—?” asked the stranger, looking from one 
face to another. “When do we start?” 

Cynthia gave Peter a swift, timid glance. She was 
pleased and relieved to see that her cousin was now 
looking at her new acquaintance with friendly curios- 


180 


The Happy Tower 

ity. Her heart leaped with pride. She had discovered 
someone in Elwood that Peter liked! 

“Start—where?” Peter asked. 

“Didn’t Cynthia tell you?” the boy asked. “She 
said yesterday you wanted to go off exploring the old 
Van Winkle place. She said you were going on a 
crusade- or something,” he explained, with a roll of 
his eyes at the word “crusade.” 

Peter shot an accusing look at Cynthia. 

“Yes!” Cynthia’s words tumbled out eagerly, “You 
know, Peter, we were going on a crusade down there. 
You were going to be Richard the Lion Hearted and 
I was going to be Robin Hood.” 

Peter flushed, then turned his head toward the 
strange boy, for whose good opinion he was now 
most eager. “I was reading about Robin Hood the 
other day, and Richard the Lion Hearted was in it,” 
he explained lamely. 

The boy grinned broadly, showing a row of white, 
healthy teeth. 

“Never heard of that Richard, but it’s O.K. I know 
about Robin Hood.” 

“What’s your name?” Cynthia burst out. “Is 
it—?” 

“Angus,” replied the boy promptly. “Angus Mac¬ 
Gregor. Better call me Gus, though. Or anything, but 
call me early for meals,” he finished glibly, with an¬ 
other grin. 


New Friends 


181 


46 An -gus!” Peter repeated. He was enormously re¬ 
lieved—and, with a smile as broad as Angus’s own, 
he went on, “Cynthia said your name was Agnes. 
Can you imagine?” 

“Good night!” And Angus went off into a roar of 
laughter, in which he was at once joined by David as 
well as Peter. 

Cynthia smiled faintly. She was, she felt, having a 
most disappointing morning. Now her new friend 
was laughing at her. 

“What is your brother’s name?” Peter sputtered. 

“Alastair—Alastair MacGregor. We call him Allie 
though. What did Cynthia call him?” 

“Alice!” Peter returned with a hoot of derision. 
“ Alice.” 

Cynthia tried her best to join in. “I thought your 
last name was Stair—” she tried to explain. 

66 Wait—wait—till I tell Allie!” gasped the new 
boy. “That’s a pippin. It’s a good thing you’re a 
girl, though, for oh, boy!” and Angus shook his head 
from side to side. “Allie is smaller than I am, but 
he sails right in.” 

“How big is he?” David asked eagerly. 

“Bigger than you, huskier than you. He’s ten.” 

“Only one year older, though!” David was jubilant. 
“Why didn’t you bring him over?” 

“He’s down at—” Angus lowered his voice, “he’s 
down at our hut. I’ll take you there. No one knows 


182 The Happy Tower 

about it. It’s in a secret part of the Van Winkle 
place.” 

The front door opened, and Judy stalked out. With 
a wriggle of importance, she delivered her mother’s 
command. 

“David! Mother says you are to get right straight 
off the grass seed this very, very minute.” 

But David had long since left the grass seed, and 
with great satisfaction, now, he waved his small sister 
away. 

“Run away, Judy! Run away! Don’t bother us— 
we’re busy!” 

“Well!” Judy took a long breath and turned to 
Peter. “And, Pet-er! Delia says to come and get 
Oscar right now if you ever, ever want to see him 
again. She nearly got him in the vacuum cleaner and 
she says if she does it will smash the vacuum cleaner 
to pieces. And you’d better come right straight this 
minute.” Judy’s head bobbed up and down for em¬ 
phasis, as she turned her back upon them and strutted 
back into the house. 

“Oh, heck!” and Peter stamped across the porch. 
At the door, he turned. “I’ll be out in a minute, 
Angus, and then we can get started.” 

Michael, who had been very quiet and wide-eyed 
during the conversation, now stood up. “I am going 
to go, too!” he stated defiantly. 

No one paid any attention to him. All eyes were 
on Angus. 



With a wriggle of importance, Judy delivered her 

mother s command . 


184 


The Happy Tower 

“Is the Van Winkle place the old revolutionary 
mansion?” David asked their new friend. “You and 
Peter seem to know all about it,” he added to Cynthia 
reproachfully. “You never told me one single thing!” 

Cynthia only smiled teasingly. 

Peter came out of the house, holding out his hand, 
with Oscar in it. 

“Here he is!” 

Angus looked at the turtle with respect and admira¬ 
tion. 

“Jinks! A turtle! What a little one! You can get 
hundreds of them in Martha’s Pond, down at the Van 
Winkle place—but I never saw one so little or with 
such pretty colors.” 

“Do you want it?” Peter burst out with a sudden 
generous impulse. “You can have him.” 

Angus was delighted. “Oh, thanks! He’s a beauty. 
I can put him in our fish tank. Mom won’t let Allie 
and me have any pets but fish, because they are quiet 
and stay in one place. They don’t Tain around and 
get under foot, thank goodness,’ she says.” As he 
spoke, Angus looked down at Oscar lovingly. “Allie’ll 
like him, too, all right.” 

At Angus’ words, a strange and delightful feeling 
swept over Peter. Never before having shared any¬ 
thing that was the apple of his eye, like Oscar, he did 
not recognize the feeling, did not know it to be the 
happiness of very great generosity. For Cynthia was 
right. Peter was inclined to be selfish. 



New Friends 


185 


“Let’s get going,” he said quickly, in a loud voice. 
“And if you kids are bound to come along, I suppose 
you’ll have to. But you’ve got to behave yourselves.” 

In an instant, and with never a thought for Judy 
and Patty who were still in the house, they were all 
racing up the street. Michael, at the rear, kept up as 
best he could on his short, fat little legs. 

Angus talked breathlessly all the way. He, too, 
was having a new experience. For never before had 
Angus known the incomparable joy of so large an 
audience, one which hung on his every word. He had 
never realized how wonderful the old Van Winkle 
place was until he attempted to describe it to these 
city-bred children. 

“It was built way, way before the Revolution, the 
house was. The Van Winkles were Dutch—and 
awfully rich. They had slaves. Wait till you look 
inside the slave hut! Have you seen the river? I bet 
you haven’t! It runs for miles. And there were lots 
of other big mansions just like the Van Winkles’ all 
along it. And wait till you hear this!” he stopped, 
drew a long breath, and looked from Peter to Cyn¬ 
thia. 

“What?” asked Cynthia, her eyes glowing with 
excitement. “What—tell us.” 

“The old Van Winkle mansion had a staircase in 
the hall, so wide that lots of people said that a team 
of horses and a carriage could drive right up it. Some 
bet one way, some another—” 




186 The Happy Tower 

“Gosh!” Peter exclaimed. “But what do you mean, 
bet?" 

“They bet that the team and carriage could go up 
to the stair case—” Angus said dramatically. 

“It sounds like a book. Do you read books?” Cyn¬ 
thia asked eagerly. 

Angus shrugged his shoulders. “Some. I like the 
Submarine Boy series. They aren’t bad. I have four¬ 
teen of them.” 

“Oh, they’re all right!” Peter admitted. “I used 
to read them myself.” 

“Who lives there now?” Cynthia was absorbed in 
the Van Winkle mansion. 

“The Setons—they sell vegetables and things.” 

They were now close to the barbed wire fence. 

Cynthia turned to Peter. “Oh, Peter, this is where 
we went in that day—do you remember?” 

“What day?” David frowned. 

Cynthia wrinkled up her nose and made a face at 
David. But she said nothing. 

Angus stood holding the barbed wire so that they 
could all crawl through—holding it as proudly as 
though he were opening a door to honored guests in 
his own home. 

“And—” he went on, just as though he had never 
stopped, “and wait till you see the cupola, that’s the 
little tower on the roof of the mansion. Boy! is there 
a story about that!” 



New Friends 187 

As they ran down the winding path, Angus told 
them the story. 

“They say that a hermit used to stay up in that 
little tower, all the time. And—” 

Cynthia stood still. “And—what?” 

“And he would come out of one of the windows on 
the roof and lower a bucket on a long rope. Every 
day!” 

“What for?” 

“For his food. They’d put it in the bucket and then 
he would pull it up. But no one went near him. He 
wanted to live that way. Well, one day he didn’t 
lower the bucket, so after awhile the folks that gave 
him his food broke down the door. There he was, 
with his beard caught in the floor boards, so he couldn’t 
move. He never shaved, you see. So he couldn’t 
lower his bucket after his beard got caught and he was 
nearly starving. He was a miser. He had piles of 
money there—all in gold, except a pail of bank 
checks that he had never cashed. They were very old, 
and they had interest on them. You’d be surprised, 
how much interest you get on a check you don’t cash 
for years and years.” 

Cynthia stared at Angus. Was he teasing her? 
“Honestly, Angus?” she asked, doubtfully. 

Angus gave her a swift glance—and what he saw 
in her face filled him with glee. 

“Well, that’s the story—take or leave it,” he replied 
airily. 




188 


The Happy Tower 

Cynthia promptly decided to take it. It was a rather 
silly story—but she could fix it up, later on. 

Completely hidden from sight in a thicket of 
bushes, they discovered Angus’ hut. 

“Give the pass word,” called Allie, from within. 

“Mud-in-your-eye! ” 

“Enter!” 

Allie was so much like Angus that it was funny. 
He was shorter, of course, and his hair was a little 
more on the sandy shade, but otherwise they might 
have been twins. 

“You give me a pain!” he reproached his brother. 
“I’ve been waiting—and waiting.” 

“Look!” Angus held out his hand. In the palm 
Oscar was crawling. “Isn’t he a beaut? We can have 
him for the fish tank. This guy—Peter his name is, 
gave him to me. He bought him.” 

“Oh, b-boy!” Allie stuttered. (Allie stuttered a 
good deal, they soon discovered.) “Oh, b-boy! You 
—you—can have this whole—whole—bunch—for 
him,” and he pointed to a pail on the floor of the hut. 

Michael knelt down by the pail, and David, Peter 
and Cynthia leaned over it eagerly. 

“Oh, boy! Oh, boy!” David echoed Allie’s shout. 
“Eight big whopoos! Look at them, eight big turtles. 
Oh, boy!” 

“You couldn’t give me all those turtles!” Peter 
protested. Such generosity was beyond believing. 






New Friends 


189 


“Oh, that’s nothing /” Angus swept his protest aside. 
“We can get dozens more down at the pond. Besides, 
we hate to leave them here at night. They might get 
away.” 

“Why don’t you take them up to your house?” 
Peter asked, puzzled. 

“Our mother won’t let us! Sure, take them all up 
to your house. Then we can come and look at them, 
whenever we want.” 

“But I won’t own them a/Z,” Peter declared. “I’ll 
take care of them, but you can own half of them.” 

“That—that will—be—swell!” Allie stuttered, 
beaming his thanks. “Let’s get some—some more 
this morning. We could get some fishes, too, in the 
pond—and some tadpoles.” 

“Gosh, I think your mother must be awfully kind 
to let you have all these animals—” Angus turned to 
Cynthia. 

Cynthia nodded proudly—although she was not too 
sure her mother would like this aquarium. 

“And say, Pete!” David turned to his cousin as an 
inspiration of his own came to him. “You can put 
your alligator in with them.” 

Angus and Allie stared at their visitors in open- 
mouthed wonder. They were quite speechless. Had 
they heard the word— alligator? 

“Oh, sure, I’m getting an alligator,” Peter told 
them. “It’ll be here almost any day now.” 




190 The Happy Tower 

Cynthia was delighted with the hut. It was so cosy 
—so hidden from the world. The roof was a com¬ 
bination of an old oilcloth table cover and an even 
older poncho. And to enter, one had to bend away 
over, in the first place—and then take two steps down . 
It felt almost underground. Her thoughts were punc¬ 
tuated with emphasized words. And it was almost 
dark . It felt mysterious . 

“We didn’t have to dig down very far—” Angus 
looked around proudly. “We picked this spot because 
it was in a hollow. But it’s just for now. What we 
really wanted was an underground hut, so we’re going 
to make that next.” 

“It’s nearly an underground one, all right,” Peter 
agreed warmly. “And wouldn’t it be fun to camp 
here—and eat our meals—” 

“And cook them!” Angus added. “Oh, boy! That’s 
what we’ll do!” 

Soon they were all sitting in a huddle on the boxes 
in the middle of the hut and making plans—all ex¬ 
cept Michael who couldn’t leave the turtles alone. 
He picked up one big fellow—its head and legs all 
wriggling—and pushed it into Cynthia’s face. Pull¬ 
ing back with a horrified squeal, she shut her eyes 
tightly. The other boys shouted, and, inspired by 
Michael, each of them fished up a turtle from the tub 
and tried to make them crawl on Cynthia’s head, and 
then on her back (which she turned at once, in a 
frantic effort to get out of the hut). 




New Friends 


191 


Safely outside, Cynthia dashed through the tangle 
of bushes which surrounded it. Once out in the clear, 
she stood still. And when the boys caught up with 
her, she had a broad grin on her face. 

Angus looked at her in astonishment, then decided 
that Cynthia was not only the prettiest girl he had 
ever seen in his life, but the best sport. It would be 
mean to go on teasing anyone who grinned that way 
after she had been so frightened. Angus liked it, 
though, that she had been frightened—just like a girl! 

“Let’s put the turtles back in the pail, and then go 
down to the pond and get some more,” he suggested. 
“As long as you’re going to have an aquarium, you 
might as well have a good one.” 

Angus hung back with Peter as the others raced 
down the trail toward the pond. 

“Cynthia’s swell, isn’t she?” Angus said, looking 
up into the sky. He had never praised a girl before. 

“Sure!” Peter answered with prompt loyalty. 

For the next hour the boys waded into the muddy 
water of Martha’s Pond, and collected turtles and tad¬ 
poles. But Cynthia sat on a big stone, thinking of the 
story Angus had told them. Through the trees she 
could see the cupola, and it fascinated her. Had a 
hermit really lived in it? 

When they left for home, the boys were carrying 
a pail filled with dirty water, eleven turtles, a dozen 
or so tadpoles, and one small frog (the prize catch of 
the morning). 


192 


The Happy Tower 

As they parted, Peter turned to Angus with warm 
friendliness in his voice. 

“Gee, it was swell of you to give us all these things. 
I’ll take good care of them. Don’t worry!” 

“Oh—that’s O.K.!” replied Angus, casually. 
“Glad to do it. I’ll be seeing you.” 

David looked after the two MacGregor boys as they 
hopped the fence into their own yard. “Jinks, they’re 
swell, aren’t they?” 

“They sure are!” Peter agreed. 

Just as they got over into their back yard, Angus 
put his hands to his mouth, made a megaphone of 
them and shouted: 


“THANKS FOR OSCAR!” 



VIII 

~ Turtles and Tadpoles ~ 

“Let’s get the turtles all fixed up, before we show 
them to Aunt Sue. If we showed them to her right 
now, it might worry her—or something. Anyway, I 
bet she’s too busy helping Delia get lunch.” Peter 
was standing looking down into Angus’ pail, with 
Cynthia, David, and Michael hovering over it, out in 
the back yard near the cellar door. 

David spoke up suddenly. “You know—what?” 

“Know— what?” Peter asked promptly. 

“I’ve got a good idea.” 

“All right, spill it. I need one,” Peter looked at 
his cousin hopefully. 

“It’s not Monday—that’s my good idea. Catch 
on: 

Peter gave David a withering look. 

“That is a bright idea. It’s not Sunday, Monday, 
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday—it’s Friday.” 

193 



194 The Happy Tower 

“Don’t you catch on? Monday is washday,” David 
persisted. 

Peter continued to look at his cousin in silent scorn. 

“Monday is washday,” David went on undaunted. 
“Monday, Delia uses the tubs in the cellar. And we 
could use one of—” 

Peter’s eyes brightened. “Not bad! Not bad, not 
bad,” he said, promptly picking up the pail and start¬ 
ing for the cellar steps. 

Cynthia, David and Michael were just behind him, 
and in no time at all, eleven turtles, a collection of 
tadpoles, and one frog, were made to feel at home in 
one of the wash tubs. 

The children were all sitting quietly on the back 
porch—looking happy, satisfied and proud of them¬ 
selves—when Judy came whirling around the corner 
of the house. When she caught sight of them, she 
walked toward them slowly. Never on any face was 
such extreme misery and unutterable reproach so 
plainly marked. It was, for one thing, marked in dirt 
and tear stains. Her face was criss-crossed with as 
many lines as a map, with zig-zag boundary lines here 
and there and everywhere. 

Her lips were quivering and, with difficulty she 
refrained from breaking into sobs. Slowly she 
climbed the steps, her big, sad eyes looking more and 
more woeful, and her small, round chin wobbling 
suspiciously. It was quite apparent that she did not 


Turtles and Tadpoles 195 

intend to talk to any of them. Crossing the back porch, 
with her nose in the air, Judy trotted silently toward 
the back door. 

Peter and Cynthia looked at each other in dismay. 
They had forgotten all about Judy for hours! 

“Judy!” Cynthia called. “Judy, we have some¬ 
thing to show you. Wait till you see.” 

Judy stuck her small nose up higher into the air, 
shut her eyes tightly, opened the door, and went into 
the house. 

“Jinks!” David exclaimed. “She’s mad.” 

Peter and Cynthia nodded guiltily. 

“Let’s give her a turtle,” David suggested. 

Then Delia stuck her head out of the door. “Come 
in to lunch, the whole of ye—but go up and wash 
first.” 

Silently and promptly, they started to do as they 
were told. But as they trailed across the kitchen, 
Delia let out a shriek. 

“Glory be! Where have ye been? Rolling in a mud 
bath? Davy! Michael! Stand still!” 

The two boys stood looking up at Delia guiltily. 

“Mud, mud, MUD —from one end to the other of 
ye. When ye are upstairs, ye take off them suits and 
get into something else! I’ll put ’em to soak in the 
tub and, faith, they need it.” 

Peter gave Cynthia a wink—and as they walked 
shoulder to shoulder out of the kitchen, Cynthia whis- 



196 


The Happy Tower 

pered in his ear, “Did you hear what I heard? In the 
tubs. I wonder how she will like the aquarium!” 

“She won’t mind. She can use one of the other 
tubs down there.” Peter to show that he wasn’t 
worried, began to whistle. 

Uneasily, Cynthia returned to the thought of Judy. 
Poor Judy—they had forgotten her. But they had 
raced off while she was in the house—they hadn’t left 
her behind on purpose. She had just been unlucky, 
that was all. This idea cheered Cynthia a little, 
although she still felt guilty. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, 
she told herself. Besides, Judy would have been 
scared stiff by Angus’ story about the hermit. 

“Where have you been all morning?” Mrs. Abbott 
asked pleasantly, as soon as they were seated at the 
dining room table. “There was no one around but 
Judy and Patty.” 

“You ran away —you ran away!” Patty wailed. 
“You ran away from Judy and me.” Patty had been 
smiling when she sat down at the table, but her 
mother’s words recalled the loneliness of the morn¬ 
ing. 

“Oh, Mother, we never noticed we didn’t have Judy 
with us—we started in such a hurry,” Cynthia ex¬ 
plained quickly. “We didn’t wait for anything.” 

“Well, what was it—a fire?” Mrs. Abbott smiled. 
“After all, nothing else could call for such headlong 
haste. But after this, I want you to come and tell me 



Turtles and Tadpoles 197 

where you are taking Michael. He is much too young 
to wander off for hours with you older children with¬ 
out my knowing just where he is.” 

“Oh, Aunt Sue!” Peter hastened to protest. “We 
didn’t really take Michael. He just ran after us. Judy 
could have run after us, too, if she had been around.” 

There was a second’s uneasy silence at the mention 
of Judy. 

“I was helping Delia,” Judy told them. “But no 
one called me—no one called me at all.” And her 
voice quivered. 

“We didn’t call anyone, Judy,” Cynthia said. 
“Honestly, we didn’t.” 

“You see, Judy, it’s just as I told you. The others 
did not intend to run away from you,” and Mrs. 
Abbott gave her second daughter a reassuring smile. 
“They didn’t intend to hurt your feelings.” Cynthia 
sighed with relief. 

No one heard Delia go upstairs to get the boys’ 
muddy suits, or pass the dining room door a few min¬ 
utes later, and everyone was startled when she rushed 
in from the kitchen. 

“Glory be to goodness, Mrs. Abbott! The cellar 
is alive—it’s crawling! I wish ye’d see! Ye never 
saw the likes of it. Ye’d better be calling up that Mrs. 
Carstairs who is owning this house! It’s a sight to 
shatter the nerves of the best. Crawling —that’s what 
the cellar is!” 




198 The Happy Tower 

“Oh—my—!” And Mrs. Abbott jumped to her 
feet, and hurried toward the door. “Oh my, oh my!” 
she kept repeating frantically. 

Cynthia and Peter both hurried after their mother 
in guilty dismay as Delia led the way down into the 
cellar. The other children were close at their heels, 
Judy last, her eyes dark with fright, but her curiosity 
forcing her on. Crawling things in the cellar! What¬ 
ever could they be? She shivered. 

“There, and what was I after telling ye!” Delia 
exclaimed, pointing dramatically into one of the tubs. 
“I can’t think of anything but that that pesky Oscar’s 
name should have been ‘Lena,’ and she laid her eggs 
in that tub. But sure, and I never saw anything hatch 
out and grow like these, if that be the case. They 
wasn’t here Monday. The tubs must be healthy for 
them, for they’re all growed a hundred times bigger 
than their mother in a few days. By this time next 
week, they’ll be so big ye won’t be getting into the 
cellar, for the size of them!” 

Mrs. Abbott peered into the tub, then turned and 
faced her children. 

“To whom do these turtles belong?” 

Peter swallowed hard, then answered, “Some of 
them are ours—the others belong to Angus.” 

“Angus?” 

“Yes, that is the boy we were telling you about, at 
lunch. Half of them are ours—the other half really 


199 


Turtles and Tadpoles 

belong to him, and Allie. The frog is mine.” 

“The frog?” Mrs. Abbott echoed. “Is there a frog, 
too?” 

“He’s there, all right,” Peter reassured her. “He’s 
very little, that’s all.” 

“And why—” Mrs. Abbott asked with ominous self- 
control, “are these turtles and one frog in my tub?” 

“We couldn’t think of any other place for them, 
where they wouldn’t get out,” Peter answered reason¬ 
ably. He should have thought his aunt could see that! 
Where else could they have put them? 

“You couldn’t have put them by any chance in 
Angus’ wash tubs?” and Mrs. Abbott raised her eye¬ 
brows. 

“Oh, no! Oh, no, Aunt Sue! Mrs. MacGregor 
won’t let Angus and Allie have pets. She won’t let 
them have the turtles even in the house. But I bet even 
she will like Oscar.” 

“Now—what—do ye be thinking of that?” Delia 
put in witheringly. “So this Mrs. Gregor won’t be 
after having her wash tubs used for them filthy beasts, 
but your mother’s just dying to have them.” 

“We cannot have your turtles here, Peter!” Mrs. 
Abbott said firmly. “Not under any condition. Nor 
can you be the caretaker of Angus MacGregor’s 
turtles.” 

“Why, Aunt Sue!” Peter protested. “Why, Aunt 
Sue! I promised him! I promised him I’d take good 


200 


The Happy Tower 

care of them. I can’t break my promise, can I?” 

Mrs. Abbott looked at her nephew thoughtfully, and 
slowly her eyes lighted with amusement. 

“I suppose it was a gentleman’s agreement, that you 
guard, keep and cherish his turtles?” 

Peter nodded and went on, “I can’t go back on my 
word, can I?” 

“Oh, Mother!” Cynthia appealed, her heart torn 
with concern. “Angus was so nice. He gave us those 
turtles—all of them. He didn’t want to keep even one 
for himself. But Peter and I wouldn’t let him—we 
didn’t think it was fair. It’s awfully hard getting them 
out of the pond—and he and Allie had so much 
trouble getting them.” 

“Well—” Mrs. Abbott drew a long breath and 
looked at Delia. By this time, Delia’s own eyes had 
the glimmer of a smile in them, and her face was 
puckering up with mirth. 

“Sure, Mrs. Abbott—honor is honor—there’s no 
getting away from it. Peter’s an honorable young 
gentleman.” 

“But where can we put these treasures, Delia? 
They certainly can’t stay in these tubs.” 

“They certainly can’t—that’s the truth!” Delia 
agreed heartily. 

Peter and Cynthia, their faces betraying their 
worry, looked from their mother to Delia. The fate 


Turtles and Tadpoles 201 

of eleven turtles, one frog, and a collection of tadpoles 
was hanging by a thread! 

“However in the living world did ye get them beasts 
up here, I’d be asking?” Delia wanted to know. 

“In Angus’ pail,” Peter returned sadly. He was 
quite discouraged. 

“Would Angus be so kind—and I am thinking he 
must, or he’d never have given ye them creatures in 
the first place—as to let ye keep them in his pail?” 

“Oh, but, Delia!” Peter protested. “They would 
be too crowded if they had to stay in a pail all day.” 

“Maybe Angus would be good enough to let them 
spend the night in it—if not the days. In the days ye 
might be after letting them run a bit in the back yard. 
But not on washday—” she added. “I don’t want 
them beasts under me feet when I am hanging out the 
clothes. I ain’t gotten over the feel of them yet, since 
I put me hands in the midst of them, unsuspecting!” 

Mrs. Abbott let out a long sigh. “Dear me! What 
will happen next?” 

But Michael solved the problem to everyone’s satis¬ 
faction. He had been wandering aimlessly around 
the cellar, and beside the coal bins, he had come 
upon an old wooden tub. It had been left there by the 
former occupants of the house, many years before. 
“Look, Mother!” he said. “This could be for the 
turtles.” 



202 The Happy Tower 

“Why, of course!” exclaimed Mrs. Abbott in relief. 
“But take it out of the cellar, in case it leaks.” 

Late that afternoon, Peter came in to his aunt with 
his face aglow. “Aunt Sue, Angus and Allie said to 
tell you that you are wonderful. They think you’ve 
been very kindhearted about those turtles.” 

Mrs. Abbott’s face was a study, as she said, “I am 
very proud that Angus thinks I am kindhearted to 
your eleven turtles and one frog!” 

“And, Aunt Sue, may we go down to the Van 
Winkle’s place tomorrow—and stay all day—and take 
our lunch? We have a pile of work to do on the hut. 
We are going to make it more underground, so we’ve 
got an awful lot of digging to do. May we?” 

“Who is ‘we’?” she asked with a smile. 

“Davy and me. Cynthia doesn’t want to go. She 
says she can’t dig and I don’t think she can, either. 
Do you?” 

“No, I wouldn’t say that Cynthia could—or would, 
now you ask me. Yes, you may go.” 

“Oh, boy!” Peter let out a whoop of joy. This was 
going to be more fun than he had ever had in his life. 

Cynthia was entirely agreeable to the departure of 
the boys the next day. The idea of doing nothing but 
digging did not appeal to her. She much preferred 
waiting to be “surprised,” she told them, and see the 
underground hut when it was done. Besides, Angus 



Turtles and Tadpoles 203 

had brought her his favorite Submarine Boys book 
to read. Handing it to Cynthia with genuine pride, 
he had assured her that if she liked books at all, she 
would surely like this one. 

Cynthia liked boys’ books, and besides she couldn’t 
disappoint Angus—he had been so very kind. After 
David and Peter had left to call for Angus and Allie, 
she threw her bed together (it looked passably smooth 
on top), tossed her clothes onto their hooks, and then 
relaxed in the porch swing with the Submarine Boys 
in South Sea Waters . 

It was, she decided, very fortunate that she had 
hurried, because Angus came over to say goodbye, 
and was obviously pleased when he saw what she was 
reading. 

“Where are you now?” he asked. “What’s Dick 
Wentworth doing now?” 

Cynthia looked up. “He’s eating a banana,” she 
told him. 

“Well—that’s nothing! It gets good and exciting 
in the next chapter,” he promised her, as he waved 
goodbye. 

Cynthia soon found that Angus was entirely correct. 
It was most exciting in the next chapter, so much so 
that she began to wind locks of hair over and over on 
her finger until her head was in a tangle. She always 
did this when a story was so full of suspense that she 
could scarcely wait to finish it. 


204 


The Happy Tower 

After awhile, Patty and Judy and Michael ap¬ 
peared, having decided that only on the top step of 
the porch could they amuse themselves to fullest 
advantage with their turtles. 

Cynthia tried putting her fingers in her ears to shut 
out their chatter, but the book kept falling over and 
she kept losing her place. At last she snapped crossly, 
“Oh, run away, can’t you? I can’t read with you 
jabbering your heads off.” 

Judy retorted in a firm tone, “We don’t want to run. 
We want to stay right here.” 

It was too much. With her book under her arm, 
Cynthia went into the house. “I’m going up to my 
room,” she called back to them. “And you needn’t 
try to bring your turtles up there, because I shan’t 
allow it.” 

Anyway, Cynthia consoled herself as she walked 
upstairs, her tower room was the most ideal place in 
the world when you had an exciting book. 

Blissfully, she read on and on. And as she read, 
from time to time she would look up and cock her 
head apprehensively. She expected any minute to 
have her mother call, telling her to run out-doors to 
“play.” Only the night before, Mr. Abbott had said 
he thought his oldest daughter was doing too much 
reading these bright summer days. 

The boys did not return to the house until just 
before dinner that night—tired, hot and happy. 


205 


Turtles and Tadpoles 

Angus, David and Allie were shouting a song at the 
top of their lungs as they marched up the street, and 
Peter was whistling (or what he called whistling). 

Angus came up on the porch, and sat on the railing. 
Cynthia was once more sitting in the swing. 

“What is Dick Wentworth doing now?” he asked 
as he kicked his legs against the spindles. 

“They’ve been exploring an old gold mine, and 
they think maybe they’ve found a big, gold nugget.” 

“Boy, isn’t that part swell? Say, Cynthia, how do 
you like orange cake?” 

“I love it!” Cynthia answered. “Why?” 

“We’re going to have it tonight for supper, and I’ll 
bring you a piece to the hole in the fence in the back 
yard—way over—” he pointed. “Come and get it 
when I whistle.” He jumped to his feet, then hesitated. 
“Cynthia, don’t you think it would be a good idea 
for us to take all the turtles and the tadpoles and the 
frog, if he’s still here by tomorrow, back to Martha’s 
Pond and turn ’em loose? I think they’d like it a lot 
better there than here in a tub that leaks so there isn’t 
much water left by morning, even if we fill it up at 
night.” 

Cynthia looked at Angus fondly. “I think that is 
one of the nicest, kindest thoughts anyone ever 
thought,” she declared. “I think that’s just what we 
should do. Besides, Judy and Michael and Patty are 
much too young to know how to treat turtles.” 



<* 























Turtles and Tadpoles 207 

Angus grinned. It might be a job to convince Peter 
and Allie that they didn’t want an aquarium, but 
Cynthia’s approval was worth it. “And wait till you 
see our hut. It’s a lot of work and it’s awfully hot 
digging. But we’re going to have a hut that’ll accom¬ 
modate everybody when we get through.” Angus 
paused, to make certain that Cynthia appreciated that 
word accommodate . Then, satisfied, he continued, 
“And we’re not going to take much lunch tomorrow 
because Peter says we’re to make believe we’re 
wrecked on a desert island. We’re going to scout 
around for our food. You’re sure you don’t want to 
come with us, Cynthia?” 

Being wrecked on a desert island was decidedly 
alluring, but she remembered Angus’ words about 
the hot digging just in time. She wouldn’t want to go 
and then shirk. Angus wouldn’t think much of that, 
what with his always saying she was such a good sport. 

“No, thank you, Angus,” she replied. “I’d better 
stay home and help Mother with the children.” 

“O.K. So long!” And Angus hopped the railing 
and disappeared. 

Next morning, Cynthia began to read Peter’s Book 
of Pirates, for she had finished Angus’ book the night 
before. 

“That pirate book,” Peter said as he went off, 
“must be exciting as the dickens from the pictures. 
I haven’t read it yet, myself, you know,” and was glad 


208 The Happy Tower 

he had brought out the book for Cynthia. “Did I tell 
you I’m Robinson Crusoe today and Angus is my 
man, Friday—and he says Allie and Davy are Tues¬ 
day and Thursday.” 


IX 

~ Green Watermelons ~ 



Two mornings later, the boys announced that the 
time had come for Cynthia to see their underground 
hut. They would leave at once, to get everything ready, 
and she could come in about an hour. 

“Of course you may go with them, Cynthia,” her 
mother told her. “But you must take plenty of food 
for lunch. The boys have been so vague about their 
lunches, and it has really worried me. Peter keeps 
insisting they don’t need much, that they are playing 
Robinson Crusoe and are living on a desert island. 


209 


210 


The Happy Tower 

They have walked off with several of our pots and 
pans, too. Mrs. MacGregor, it seems, has also loaned 
them some cooking utensils. But what have they been 
cooking? I wish you would find out.” 

Cynthia felt very grownup at having her mother 
talk over the boys with her in this way. 

“How about the turtles?” she suggested. “People 
eat turtle soup, don’t they?” 

“Perhaps,” Mrs. Abbott said. “But my impression 
is—” 

She never finished her sentence. For just then the 
doorbell rang—first with two short calls, then as if 
a finger were on it, and was being kept there. 

“My stars! Who got glued to that bell?” Delia 
grumbled as she went out of the room. “Coming! 
Coming! Take it easy!” she muttered. 

Mrs. Abbott stood up in alarm. There was some¬ 
thing almost menacing in the insistence back of that 
ringing. And she hurried out into the hall, with Cyn¬ 
thia at her heels. 

Delia threw the door open, her face red with in¬ 
dignation. The strident ringing of the bell ceased at 
once, only to be followed by a worse uproar. The two 
men on the porch both began to talk at once, and 
bitter protests and accusations issued from their lips. 

“I’ll have the law down on them boys!” at length 
came clearly from the wordy tumult. 

“What boys, I’ll be asking ye right now?” Delia 
blazed. 


Green Watermelons 


211 


“The boys that live right in this house,” a tall lanky 
man with a mop of unkempt hair, retorted hotly. 
“They’re right here this minute, I’ll bet.” 

Mrs. Abbott came to Delia’s side, her eyes filled 
with distress. 

“What do you mean?” she said, with such quiet 
dignity that both men took off their hats at once. 
“What boys—and what have they done?” 

“What ain’t they done—” the tall, lanky fellow 
began. Following Mrs. Abbott who motioned him to 
a porch chair, he sat on its edge, twirling his hat be¬ 
tween his knees. 

“I am sorry, madam, but them kids has done 
plenty! This man here knows about it, too—and his 
brother is a cop. First off, I was going to get his 
brother, and have him take them kids to the town 
hall.” 

The other man nodded, but his expression was 
softening. Mrs. Abbott was very sweet and pretty, 
and by her quiet manner, he felt she was a real lady. 

“No need to talk so loud, Reggie,” he said. “Just 
speak to the lady, nice and quiet. But I can’t blame 
Reggie for being riled up, ma’am,” and he coughed 
apologetically. “Tell her who you are, Reggie, so 
she’ll know.” 

“My name is Reginald Seton. I live down at the 
Van Winkle place—” 

Delia, who had been standing quietly by, gave Mrs. 
Abbott a significant nod. 




212 The Happy Tower 

“Yes?” Mrs. Abbott said quietly. “And what have 
the boys done?” 

“What ain’t they done,” Reggie repeated, his face 
blowing like a red balloon. “Dug up a row of po¬ 
tatoes, that’s what. Tramped all over the rest of the 
vegetables, too—” 

“Could you name the boys?” Mrs. Abbott asked. 

Reggie bellowed, “Yes, ma’am, I can that. One of 
them said his name was Robertson Caruso—and the 
others said they was Tuesday, Wednesday, and Fri¬ 
day. I believed the Robertson one, but not the others. 
No, ma’am. Fresh as fresh paint, they was.” 

“There are three boys in this house, my two sons 
and my nephew,” Mrs. Abbott told him. “But their 
names are David and Michael and Peter.” 

“Where is they now?” Reggie asked in renewed 
suspicion. 

“The house has been unusually quiet this last half 
hour—I can’t believe they are around,” said Mrs. 
Abbott. “I shall have to wait until I see them—I 
want to be sure they are my boys.” 

“Tell the lady how you know, Reggie,” the other 
man ordered. “Tell her!” 

“Sure, Tim—I was getting to that! Well, those 
vegetables has been going for two days. I’ve been 
watching and watching. Yesterday, they made off 
with four big squashes.” 

“Squashes!” Delia put in. “Squashes, you say. It 




Green Watermelons 


213 


ain’t any boys in this house then. They would starve 
before you could get them to eat a morsel of squash— 
let alone four big ones.” 

“Four big squashes—I’ve been watching all sum¬ 
mer. Never tried that kind before. They wasn’t even 
ripe,” Reggie snorted hotly. “And this morning, 
what do you think I seen?” he turned to Mrs. Abbott 
dramatically. “You’d never guess.” 

Mrs. Abbott waited. 

“I’ll never get over it—what a sight! You can’t 
imagine how I felt, Tim—” Reggie shook his head 
at his friend. 

“Tell her, tell the lady!” Tim ordered. 

“Across the field—I seen it with my own eyes— 
one of the boys untied Rose,” he sputtered wrathfully. 

“Rose?” Mrs. Abbott gasped, completely at sea. 

“Yes, Rose! My nanny goat.” 

“What did the boys do with the goat?” Mrs. Abbott 
asked sharply. 

“Led her right up the hill, dragging her by the rope 
all the way,” Reggie roared. 

Delia grasped the porch railing and looked about 
frantically. “I knew it was no use, Mrs. Abbott. A 
goat was certain for sure to get here, one way or an¬ 
other,” she declared. 

“That’s where I came into the story,” Tim put in, 
eager for Delia’s attention. She was a very fine figure 
of a woman, he thought. “I was going down to see 


214 The Happy Tower 

Reggie and buy some vegetables—and I met this kid 
dragging poor Rose up the path. I heard Reggie 
yelling—so I started to yell. Then the kid let go, 
and flew like old Nick off in another direction. Just 
after that I met that MacGregor boy.” 

There was an uncomfortable pause. Delia and Mrs. 
Abbott looked first at each other, then back at Tim. 

“He wouldn’t say aye, yea or nay, for awhile. 
Then, at last, he admitted he had taken two or three 
potatoes. When he did that—he admitted a bushel. 
And before I knew it, off he scatted.” 

“Have you seen Mrs. MacGregor?” Mrs. Abbott 
asked, still hoping against hope that it might all be a 
mistake. 

“Sure, I did!” Tim answered promptly. “She has 
no more ideas about it than you have. She says she 
doesn’t know where her boys are. Says they might be 
with the Abbott boys—” 

“Tim and me found out that the MacGregor boys 
has been thicker than thieves with the new boys in 
the old Bell house. That’s this one. And thicker than 
thieves is right.” 

“Are ye sitting there and calling our boys thieves?” 
Delia blazed, in a sudden hot tempest. Delia could 
grumble about the boys herself—that was her privi¬ 
lege, she felt—but let anyone else do it! 

“Hush, Delia!” Mrs. Abbott ordered firmly. Then 
turning to Reggie Seton, she said, “I am afraid you 


Green Watermelons 


215 


are right, that my son, and my nephew have been up 
to mischief. They have been playing every day this 
week with the MacGregor boys down at the Van 
Winkle place.” 

“Playing!” Reggie snorted—but he lowered his 
voice. He felt better. Mrs. Abbott was admitting— 
something. 

“When I see my boys, I shall talk this over with 
them. And I want you to tell me just how much they 
owe you—for the vegetables they have taken.” 

Reggie was so surprised by his sudden victory that 
he stood up and fumbled with his hat more nervously 
than ever. He was most uncomfortable. 

“It ain’t that so much, ma’am,” he said. “A bushel 
of potatoes or so ain’t anything. It was those squashes. 
I never tried to grow ’em before. They wasn’t even 

• 99 

ripe—. 

“They never took squashes!” Delia snapped. 
“They hate the sight of ’em. That must have been 
some other boys. Ye can’t pin squashes on our 
boys—” 

“Ask ’em!” Reggie retorted sullenly. 

“I shall tell the boys not to play down there again,” 
Mrs. Abbott promised. 

“Oh, that ain’t at all necessary,” Tim answered 
with a smile. “Don’t try to keep your kids out of that 
Van Winkle place—even the barbed wire won’t do it. 
It’s just for them not to bother down around the old 




216 


The Happy Tower 

mansion. That’s what the Setons pay rent for. They 
know, the kids do, what’s wild, and what ain’t.” 

“How much do we owe you?” Mrs. Abbott re¬ 
peated. “Tell me and I will see that you are repaid.” 

Reggie Seton shuffled his feet back and forth. 
“How about fifty cents?” he said, hesitantly. “They 
did walk on some vegetables they didn’t carry off.” 

“And if ye get fifty cents from us, see to it that ye’ll 
be after getting fifty cents from the MacGregors,” 
Delia ordered grimly. 

“Sure!” Reggie returned rather miserably. “It 
wasn’t that they took such a lot—but they shouldn’t 
have untied Rose. That made me real mad—on ac¬ 
count of her giving us milk for our baby. And them 
squashes! That cut me up no end—I was waiting all 
summer to see how they turned out!” And he shook 
his head forlornly. 

“Ye still got to prove it to me, them kids took your 
squashes—” Delia declared. “Ye don’t know I wore 
meself out only this time last week getting them to 
even put squash on their plates, much less ate it.” 

“Good day, Mr. Seton,” Mrs. Abbott said, rising to 
conclude the interview. “And I shall send my boys 
to you. Perhaps we can buy our fresh vegetables 
from you from now on. My husband said, when we 
first came, that he wanted vegetables from your 
place—” 

“That’s mighty nice of you, ma’am,” broke in Tim. 



Green Watermelons 


217 


“All’s well that ends well. There is no hard feeling 
now, I hope?” And grinning at Delia, he and the 
disconsolate Reggie went down the steps. 

All through this scene, Cynthia had been standing 
by, silent and frightened. Once the men had gone, 
she rushed back into the house. She must find the 
boys at once! 

Delia followed Mrs. Abbott through the door, mut¬ 
tering as she went. 

“Squashes, no less! Imagine that! Umph!” she 
snorted derisively, “Squashes!” 

“How can I find the boys?” Mrs. Abbott asked dis¬ 
tractedly. 

“Don’t you worry, ma’am,” Delia said, as she 
started up the stairs. “I am going up to me room, 
and change me dress—then I’ll go and find ’em for 
ye.” 

She was going into her room on the third floor, 
when she heard a noise. A strange, muffled noise. 
Glory be to goodness! Was that tower room 
“haunted” as the children insisted it was? She stood 
listening. The door to the tower room was shut. Her 
heart turned over, then righted itself. It was a good 
heart and a stout one. Holding her lips tight together, 
she bravely marched to that closed door and threw it 
open. Then her eyes opened wide. 

“Well!” and she put her hands on her hips. “So 
there ye be!” 


218 


The Happy Tower 

Yes, there they were—Angus, Allie, Peter, David 
and Michael—playing as nicely and peacefully as 
anyone could wish. The four older boys were on the 
floor, while Michael was lying across an unmade bed, 
the bed bought especially for their grandmother. His 
head was hanging over its edge, and he was watching 
the older boys intently. At Delia’s voice, they all 
looked up and smiled. 

“Hello, Delia!” Peter spoke up cordially. “We are 
trying out my set for making lead cowboys and other 
things.” 

Delia stared at the lighted plumber’s candle, and 
blinked. It didn’t seem possible. She couldn’t be¬ 
lieve her eyes. 

“Where have ye been this long while? How long 
have ye been up in this room?” she demanded, after 
she got her wits and her tongue back. 

Peter and David exchanged puzzled, inquiring 
looks. How long had they been up in the tower room? 
They really couldn’t say—not for the life of them. 

“Well, now!” Delia’s face was now very grim. “Ye 
might as well be taking them innocent butter- 
wouldn’t-melt-in-yer-mouths looks right off yer faces. 
It don’t fool me none at all. Yer mother’s waiting for 
ye. She’s just after saying goodbye to Mr. Reginald 
Seton and a man by the name of Tim. Tim has a 
brother, no less—who is a cop—if that might be 
giving ye any ideas!” 




Green Watermelons 


219 


Angus jumped up. “Well, we’ve made about sixty 
cowboys—I think that’s enough. Allie and I’d better 
get going.” 

“I think that’s well spoken, Mr. MacGregor—and 
yer point well taken,” Delia said tartly. “But there’s 
just one question I am burning with curiosity to ask 
ye all. The rest of the matter will be taken care of 
by yer mothers. When did ye, Peter, and ye, David, 
and ye, Michael, get this burning passion for 
squashes? Or was it the MacGregor boys, by chance?” 

The boys, filing silently out of the door, stopped 
still, and exchanged looks of blank amazement. 
Squashes! What was Delia talking about? 

“Squashes!” Peter echoed. “What do you mean, 
squashes? We don’t know one single thing about 
squashes, do we, fellows?” 

The others shook their heads violently. 

“Stop that silly head-wagging!” Delia snapped. 
“Ye took four squashes —out of Reggie’s garden. And 
it broke his heart.” 

“We never touched his old squashes!” Peter re¬ 
torted hotly. “What would we do with squashes?” 

“Oh, no, Delia!” But Angus was exceedingly po¬ 
lite. “We never touched a single squash. We don’t 
even know what one is, do we, fellows?” and he 
turned and looked from face to face. 

“All right! All right, I believe you!” Delia told 
them with satisfaction, as she noted their honestly 


220 The Happy Tower 

inquiring expressions. “I knew that crazy loon didn’t 
know what he was talking about. Squashes, no less! 
You hate them ripe, and cooked nice,—and why ever 
in the living world would ye want four of them— 
green and—” She stopped short. At the words —four 
of them — green —there was a startling change upon 
the faces looking up into hers, an unmistakable look of 
enlightenment and guilt. 

“Four—green squashes!” Peter repeated in an un¬ 
certain voice. “We saw—some—we had some—green 
watermelons. We didn’t have squashes —” he fal¬ 
tered. “Maybe, that’s why—” 

“And we couldn’t eat those watermelons,” Angus 
finished in a rush. “Nobody ate them.” 

Delia stood still and stared down at the boys, 
while tiny, little wrinkles puckered up her eyes, eyes 
that now had a shadowy twinkle in them. 

“So ye couldn’t eat them watermelons, eh?” she 
asked quite solemnly, in spite of that shadowy twinkle. 

Angus and Peter shook their heads. 

“They were the worst watermelons I ever tasted in 
my life. No one would have bought them,” Peter 
commented a little sulkily, as he and the others fol¬ 
lowed Delia down the stairs. 

“I have an idea no one would have bought them 
green things—for watermelons. They would have 
waited until they turned yellow, and then would have 
bought them for squashes” Delia chuckled softly. 





Green TVatermelons 


221 


“And T m after wondering this blessed minute whose 
hearts was most broken over them green squashes— 
that Reggie creature, or a few boys I know right well!” 

“I think Allie and I better go home—” Angus said 
again, when they reached the first floor. 

“I’ll be agreeing with you, Mr. MacGregor. We’ve 
got business to attend to around here—” Delia de¬ 
clared. 

If only his aunt had scolded them, Peter thought, 
as they sat around the dining room table to talk the 
matter over. But she didn’t scold—she just sat there 
speaking quietly, and in such a sad, disappointed kind 
of voice. 

“I trusted you boys,” she said slowly. “And the 
fact that you have lived in a city until now is no 
excuse. You knew that there was a vegetable garden 
near the old mansion, and that the vegetables in it did 
not belong to you. You knew that Mr. Seton sold his 
vegetables. If you wished to have the fun of digging 
your own potatoes to cook, you had only to see him 
and buy the potatoes in the ground. You, Peter, cer¬ 
tainly knew enough for that. And you, David. Be¬ 
sides, Angus and Allie live here. I cannot understand 
it.” 

She paused, but the three boys did not speak. 

“And one more thing,” she turned to David, “I am 
just as positive as though I had been there that it was 
you, David, who untied that goat. Your daddy prom- 




222 The Happy Tower 

ised you an aeroplane model set to take the place of 
a goat, and you told him you would not bother about 
one, any more. Do you think that is fair, son? He 
went to a great deal of trouble to order a special set 
for you. Do you think you ought to keep it when it 
comes?” 

“Oh, Aunt Sue!” Peter protested, distressed almost 
beyond endurance by the misery in his cousin’s face. 
“It was my idea. We were only going to borrow that 
goat and milk it. We were playing Robinson Crusoe 
on a desert island. Robinson Crusoe would have 
milked a goat if he had found one.” 

“But Robinson Crusoe would not have borrowed 
a goat tied to a post in the back yard of an old man- 
sion. 

“We made believe the mansion wasn’t there,” 
David faltered. 

“In that case,” Mrs. Abbott replied firmly, “and 
since you were so successful at making believe that 
the old mansion wasn’t there, why couldn’t you have 
gone farther, and have imagined that the goat wasn’t 
there, either? But we will say no more about it now. 
Your father will decide tonight what is to be done.” 

Out in the kitchen another meeting was taking 
place. Delia was sitting in judgment over a very 
troubled Cynthia. 

“It’s those MacGregor boys I’m blaming more than 


Green Watermelons 


223 


our three,” Delia declared, swinging open the icebox 
door. “And stupids they must be, living here all their 
lives and not knowing a squash from a watermelon.” 

“But, Delia—” Cynthia began. 

“No huts to it, I say. Just ye wait till yer father 
gets home tonight. There’ll be doings between here 
and the MacGregor house, I’m telling ye.” 

But Mr. Abbott surprised everyone, even Mrs. 
Abbott. He didn’t roar at all. After he had heard 
the whole story, squashes, goat and all, he just looked 
very tired and a little sad. 

“And I trusted you boys,” he said, in Mrs. Abbott’s 
very words. “Trusted you to play as you wished, here 
in the country, without troubling others.” 

Peter swallowed hard at the lump in his throat. 
“You can trust us from now on,” he said in a very 
small voice. 

Mr. Abbott looked at his nephew keenly. “I hope 
so,” he replied. “But what can we do to make up to 
Mr. Seton for the damage you have done?” 

“We can pay for the vegetables out of our allow¬ 
ances,” David suggested. 

“Yes. You can do that.” 

“And we can pay double for the squashes,” Peter 
added. 

“Yes. I would say that would be only fair, in view 
of his disappointment. But there is something else, 
too.” 


224 The Happy Tower 

“Apologize. They can go and say they’re sorry 
and won’t do it again,” Cynthia put in. 

“Exactly. Apologize. As soon as dinner is over. 
We want our neighbors here in Elwood to be as glad 
we came here as we are. We want them to be glad we 
are going to live here for—” 

“The rest of our lives!” shouted Judy. 

For the first time since they had sat down at the 
dinner table, Mr. Abbott smiled. “Yes, for the rest 
of our lives, we hope,” he told her. 

Now Delia, who had been standing eagerly by, had 
a suggestion of her own. “Begging yer pardon, Mr. 
Abbott,” she said, “I’d be making them MacGregor 
boys go along for that saying they’re sorry, and pay¬ 
ing some, too.” 

“Yes, you’re right, Delia. The boys and I will go 
over to the MacGregors together for a conference, 
first. And I have a feeling that Mr. and Mrs. Mac¬ 
Gregor will agree with our decision.” 

As the boys and their father trooped from the 
dining room when the meal was over, Peter paused 
at the door to glance back at his aunt. She was sitting 
at her place, with shoulders that drooped, and her 
face still looked sad. 

Rushing back, Peter threw his arm around her and 
whispered, “I’m so sorry, Aunt Sue. I just didn’t 
think. And it really was lots more my fault than the 
others. I’m older.” 


Green Watermelons 


22 5 


Mrs. Abbott reached up and patted Peter’s hand. 
“I understand, Peter. And I know you will be more 
thoughtful next time.” 

“That was generous of Peter,” Mrs. Abbott re¬ 
marked to Cynthia as the front door slammed. “Some¬ 
times I have thought him a bit selfish.” 

“Sometimes I’ve thought so, too,” Cynthia agreed. 
“But I guess it’s just because he doesn’t think. Any¬ 
way, he’s lots better than he was.” 

“Yes, I hope—” 

“That we live here the rest of our lives!” shouted 
Judy again, eager for attention. 

“I guess you won’t find Delia and me wishing to 
move very soon again, will they, Delia?” 

“Move! Glory be, don’t say that word, Mrs. Abbott. 
Don’t say it!” 




X 

~ Two Letters ~ 

Next morning, when Cynthia opened her eyes, the 
first thing she saw was the heavy rain, beating upon 
the bedroom window. 

“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed in disgust. “Oh, dear!" 

Last night, when the boys and Daddy had come 
home, she had thought she could not possibly wait for 
today. Mr. Seton had been so nice! 

“A very fine, a most understanding man,” Mr. 
Abbott had declared. For not only had Mr. Seton 
accepted the boys’ apology, he had even been un¬ 
willing to take their allowance money, advanced by 
Mr. Abbott. And when at last he reluctantly put the 
money in his pocket, he had offered to let the boys 
help him dig potatoes and even to milk the goat, 
whenever they wished. 

“Boys will be boys,” he kept saying. “I’d have 

226 


Two Letters 227 

remembered it myself this morning, ’cepting for them 
squashes.” 

It had been arranged that they were all to go to 
the old Van Winkle place the next day, and now it 
was raining! 

But as Cynthia got into her clothes and listened to 
the water splashing and beating in torrents against 
the window and rushing down the drain pipe by the 
front porch, she found her disappointment washing 
away with the rain. Why, this was just the kind of 
day they had been waiting for—to play up in the 
attic and the tower room. They’d get Angus and Allie 
to come over and have lots of fun! 

Looking back upon it all afterward, Cynthia never 
could decide whether that day was a nice one or a 
bad one. It was so mixed up. First, the news that 
Angus and Allie brought. The MacGregor boys came 
over the first thing to tell their friends that tomorrow 
they were going to the “country” for the rest of the 
summer. They only stayed for a few moments for 
they had to hurry home to help with the packing. 
Peter and Cynthia and David and Michael and Judy 
looked dismayed at this sudden development. 

“But this is country, Angus,” Cynthia protested.. 

“Not according to my Mom and Dad,” Angus told 
her. “Well, we’ve got to get going, fellows. So 
long!” 

Feeling disappointed, hurt, cheated, Cynthia. 


228 


The Happy Tower 

watched the door close upon them. Then she fol¬ 
lowed the other children up the stairs. Just when 
everything was all fixed up, this had to happen! 

For the first time, the tower room held no enchant¬ 
ment for any of them. Peter and David lay on their 
backs on Grandma’s bed, looking gloomily up at the 
ceiling. 

“Oh, jinks!” grumbled David. “If it hadn’t been 
raining, we could have gone down to the hut again 
before Angus and Allie left. I wish my aeroplane 
set had come.” 

“And my alligator never got here in the mail, 
either,” said Peter. “It’s a gyp.” 

“Maybe we could play with those cowboys and 
Indians you made yesterday,” Cynthia suggested 
half-heartedly, from her place beside Michael on the 
edge of the bed. 

“I’m going to play, too,” declared Judy crossly. 
“You can’t leave me out.” 

“Get off my feet, Michael,” commanded David, 
giving Michael a push that sent him flying. 

Michael set up a lusty howl. 

“This isn’t any fun,” declared Cynthia. “I’m going 
down to my room and read Little Women." 

“And I’ll go with you and read Captains Coura¬ 
geous Peter decided, pushing himself up from the 
bed. 

David and Judy looked at their cousin and sister 


Two Letters 229 

apprehensively. Did they really mean that they were 
not going to play? 

But Cynthia did not walk out the door. Listlessly, 
she crossed over to the window and gazed out at the 
storm. 

The others waited in silence. 

“Oh, Peter!” Cynthia broke the unusual quiet. “It 
is mysterious, being up here in the tower when it’s 
raining like this. You know, I almost feel as though 
I were in a lighthouse in an awful gale.” 

Peter sprang into action. “I say, fellows,” he cried, 
“let’s get out my new castle and that ship Grandmother 
sent me and—” 

“And use the cowboys and Indians we made yester¬ 
day,” interrupted David excitedly. “We made sixty- 
five and there are enough to divide up and even give 
Michael and Judy some.” 

Already Cynthia and Peter had dashed to the closet 
and were dragging out some big boxes. And as Peter 
set to work upon his castle, he gave rapid orders. 
“The rest of you stay up on the bed while Cynthia 
and I manage this. We’ll each have a leader. We 
can call him an admiral, like Admiral Byrd. We’ll 
make believe that Admiral Byrd has got awfully sick 
of freezing at the South Pole and he wants to get to 
the South Seas where there is warm weather. Don’t 
call these Indians or cowboys, fellows. They’re just 
the admiral’s followers. See?” 


230 The Happy Tower 

Feverishly, Peter and Cynthia set the scene. The 
other three, enthralled, lay on their stomachs, with 
their heads hanging over the edge of the bed. Peter 
and Cynthia could be relied upon to imagine almost 
anything that was fantastic and exciting. Sure enough 
—soon a picturesque, medieval castle occupied the 
center of the room. On tiny little ledges about its 
many turrets, stood wild west cowboys and wilder 
Indians. Admiral Byrd would have been amazed at 
his new followers, perhaps, but he would have been 
more amazed to discover that he was not the only 
admiral in this expedition—there were to be five. 

A big cardboard ship on wheels was parked at the 
entrance to the castle’s drawbridge—the drawbridge 
serving as the gangplank, by which the people were to 
board the ship. At some distance, a small rug was 
mounded up to a peak, with a hole at the top. To 
some, it might have resembled an upside-down ice 
cream cone. But what it really was, Cynthia ex¬ 
plained, was a volcano on a desert island, and a dan¬ 
gerous volcano, at that. When they came to the vol¬ 
cano part of the game, David could make the noise 
of its grumbling, Peter said. David hoped they would 
come to that part soon—he felt he would enjoy spit¬ 
ting out flame, and rumbling thunderously. And he 
hoped Michael’s admiral would be walking up the 
side of the volcano, when the signal came for the 
eruption. It was something to look forward to. 




Two Letters 


231 


“It would be fun to have David’s little tin aero¬ 
plane flying over the volcano when it starts spouting,” 
Peter suggested pleasantly. “Then the aeroplane 
could take a nose dive right down the crater.” 

David’s eagerness slumped. That would put his 
aeroplane out of commission for the rest of the game. 
Then he happened to think that as long as he was the 
one to do the “erupting,” he could wait until his 
aeroplane was past the volcano—and out of danger. 

“Let’s not see the volcano for a long time,” Cynthia 
now suggested. “Let’s explore other islands, and fight 
with the savage natives.” (She was thinking of Dick 
Wentworth in the Submarine Boys.) 

They were off! Judy’s, Michael’s and David’s ad¬ 
mirals were marched up the combination gangplank- 
drawbridge and onto the ship. 

And in no time at all, the ship had discovered an 
unnamed island (curiously like a bed pillow) and 
was anchored before it. 

As the men climbed its billowy sides, Peter glared 
about with bared teeth snarling and snapping. 

“Who are you now?" Judy squealed weakly. 

“I am the cannibal chief of this island. I am hid¬ 
ing behind the bushes, watching the men get off the 
boat,” he snarled. 

“My admiral wants to stay on the boat,” Judy 
declared at once. “He doesn’t like that island—he 
wants to write a letter to his mother.” 


232 


The Happy Tower 

“He was the first one off the boat,” Cynthia said 
firmly. “Wasn’t he, Peter? He can’t write to his 
mother now. Let’s start fighting those cannibals—” 

“Forward—march!” Peter ordered. 

The noise was terrific. 

Judy shut her eyes tight and shouted in Michael’s 
ear, “Who is winning?” 

Boom-de-Boom. Boom! Boom! 

“Oh glory! We’ve lost about ten men now. Those 
cannibals are using poison darts. It’s awful!” Peter 
shrieked. 

Judy could stand it no longer. Sliding from the 
bed, she flew for the canibal-infested island, shouting 
frantically, “Give me my admiral, give me my men. 
My men want to write to their mothers.” 

Her protest was met with a roar that fairly ripped 
the roof from the tower room. Peter and Cynthia 
rolled over and over on the floor in high glee. And 
up on the bed, David and Michael riotously joined in. 

“My men want to write to their mothers!” Peter 
gasped, lying on his back, too exhausted now to let 
out even one more squeak of laughter. 

But Judy didn’t care how much they laughed at 
her. She had her admiral and his seven followers 
tight in her warm, moist fists. Climbing back on to 
the bed, she sat very still, blinking her eyes. Now, 
they could go on. Her men were safe. 


Two Letters 


233 


Peter sat up and wiped tears from his eyes. The 
cannibals had all run away, he declared. Now their 
ship must continue its explorations. With a few more 
blasts—boom-boom—BOOM, it sailed away. The 
next island was strangely like the first, but Cynthia’s 
men promptly made a discovery. As the explorers 
disembarked, she held out her hand and picked some¬ 
thing from the air. Then she began to make the mo¬ 
tions of eating. 

“What’s your admiral doing now?" David asked, 
puzzled. 

“He is eating a banana. This island is covered with 
banana trees,” she answered. That book Angus had 
lent her had all kinds of ideas for this game! 

“It looks like an awful long one,” Michael put in, 
“at least two feet.” 

“It is! This island is a paradise. There are all 
kinds of good things to eat here, aren’t there, Peter?” 

Peter nodded. “Oranges, figs, dates and tanger¬ 
ines—and mangoes /” He felt proud to remember 
mangoes. It showed he knew tropical fruits. 

Judy blinked faster than ever. She felt very sorry 
for her admiral. He should have been enjoying this 
feast. Why did they have to think of it after he had 
left to write to his mother? She was just about to 
insist that her admiral continue on the trip, when 
she again clutched him fearfully. The boat had left 
this tropical island, with its heavenly fruits, and 


234 The Happy Tower 

now was pointing its nose toward that dangerous 
volcano! 

“Now, Davy!” Peter was saying. “We must have 
the aeroplane. It has to scout over the top of the 
crater to see if everything is safe, before our men 
land.” 

David hesitated. “Is my admiral supposed to be 
on the plane? And if it starts erupting just when I 
go over it, is the plane going to crash, and is my ad¬ 
miral going to fall into the crater?” 

“What do you care? He might save Cynthia’s ad¬ 
miral, and mine and Michael’s,” Peter answered 
coolly. “Start the aeroplane flying over the crater, 
David.” 

“It’s not going to start until I want it to,” David 
replied. “Not until I rumble.” 

“I’ll do the rumbling,” Peter volunteered. 

“Oh jinks!” David took his aeroplane, and with 
a sigh, moved it toward the menacing mound of car¬ 
pet. 

Peter began to “rumble.” It was contagious. Cyn¬ 
thia and Michael at once joined in. The effect was 
quite terrifying. The tower room shook with it. And 
Judy, on the bed, was too frightened not to look, and 
not to hear. With both horrified eyes on the volcano, 
she listened with both agonized ears. Suddenly, above 
the din, there came another roar. It was the wind 
outside, Cynthia thought delightedly. 


Two Letters 


235 


But through the roar came words, and something 
made them all turn their eyes from the volcano to 
the door which led into the hall. There stood Delia, 
with her hands on her hips. 

“Ye are not dumb, I see—but ’ave ye all gone stone- 
deaf?” she demanded. “I’ve yelled till me throat is 
worn out.” Then she cupped her hands to her mouth 
and roared again. “Lunch!” 

Tumbling out of the tower room, they raced each 
other downstairs. 

On the dining room table was the especially nice 
lunch Delia always had for them on rainy days. And 
Mrs. Abbott and Patty were waiting. 

“I had two very important letters in the mail today,” 
Mrs. Abbott announced as soon as they were all in 
their seats. “One is very nice—and a happy surprise. 
The other one is not nice, and it is far from a happy 
surprise—” 

“Mother,” Cynthia begged, “tell us first about the 
one that isn’t so nice—and isn’t a happy surprise.” 

“Well, I must say, Cynthia, you seem eager for 
trouble,” her mother replied. 

Delia shook her head with a wry smile. “Sure, and 
if it isn’t their own trouble, children git the more pleas¬ 
ure out of it than someone’s good luck.” 

“Oh, what is the bad news?” Peter begged. “Please 
tell us, Aunt Sue—” 

“I never heard anyone beg for bad news before, 







236 The Happy Tower 

but since you wish it, I’ll tell you right now. The 
woman who owns this house, wants to sell it. She 
wants to get it off her hands, and she hasn’t been 
able to sell, so far, because the property is involved 
in legal difficulties—” 

“It’s that Old-Lady-Witch!” Cynthia exclaimed. 
“What does she want to do with us?” 

“She wants us to move. Your father and I had 
her promise that we could live here for a year at least, 
but it was not in writing. She told us that the prop¬ 
erty was so ‘tied up,’ because of some man’s crooked¬ 
ness, that she couldn’t sell, and she didn’t think there 
was much chance of it. Now she wants us to leave 
this house in two months because she has had an offer 
for it.” 

There was a smothering silence. 

“Oh, Mother it was Cynthia speaking in a voice 
that broke, “will we have to go back and live in the 
city and in an apartment? Aren’t we going to live in a 
tower house any more?” 

“Cynthia, my darling—and all of you—we will 
never go back to an apartment. That I can promise 
you. And your father will see Old-Lady-Witch, as 
you call her, and try to arrange things so that we can 
stay here at least a year.” 

“I know about that crooked man—he stole a lot 
of money from poor widows—” Peter’s eyes bright¬ 
ened with a sudden thought. Then he went on myste- 


Two Letters 


237 


riously, “and I know what Old-Lady-Witch is after, 
and why she wants to come back to this house. It’s 
not because she’s going to sell this house. It’s be¬ 
cause —you know, Cynthia.” 

What this was all about, Mrs. Abbott hadn’t an 
idea, but she felt sorry for the children. They loved 
their happy tower house! 

“You funny youngsters. Well, you know the bad 
news, now. But you have all forgotten to ask me what 
my good news was.” 

“What is it? What is it?” 

Mrs. Abbott smiled, then answered happily. 
“Grandma is coming for a visit in a few days—and 
tomorrow, Delia and I are going to put the tower room 
in beautiful order for her—” 

“Oh, Aunt Sue! Aunt Sue!” Peter looked happier 
than the children had ever seen him. 

All through the rest of the lunch, there was plan¬ 
ning for Grandma’s visit. And when Mrs. Abbott 
noticed the glances Peter and Cynthia frequently 
exchanged, she thought they were planning a special 
surprise for the beloved guest. 




Judy 


XI 

~ Hidden Treasure ~ 

The minute lunch was over, Peter beckoned Cyn¬ 
thia out into the hall. 

“Do you remember,” he whispered breathlessly 
once they were alone, “that time we decided we had 
something important to do on a rainy day? Today 
is the day.” 

“What?” Cynthia asked even more breathlessly. 
Peter was plotting, she felt sure, and she loved “plots” 
in books, or out. 

“Oh, don’t you remember?” Peter looked disap¬ 
pointed. How could she have forgotten? “Aunt Sue’s 
other letter ought to make you remember. Didn’t it 
give you an idea?” 

238 


Hidden Treasure 


239 


“You mean about Old-Lady-Witch?” Cynthia spoke 
slowly, trying to remember. Oh dear, what was it? 
The other children would be there in another minute. 
“Tell me, tell me quick!” she begged, listening in¬ 
tently. Yes, David was coming. 

Peter heard David, too. “Well,” he said, “we’ll 
have to have the others to help us, but I’ll tell you 
now. Can’t you guess why Old-Lady-Witch wants 
the house back quick? Can’t you guess even that!” 

“Oh yes, yes. I think I’m beginning to guess,” 
Cynthia was making a desperate effort. David and 
Judy were very close now. 

“I thought you would when you remembered that 
man who stole all the money. That’s what she is 
after,” Peter announced dramatically. “We can look 
for it this afternoon.” 

“You mean—! We can search in the attic for the 
money he hid?” 

“Righto!” Peter shouted. He didn’t care who heard, 
now that Cynthia had “guessed.” “Come on, fellows, 
up to the attic, we have work to do,” he called at the 
top of his voice. 

“Are you going up to the haunted attic?”—Judy 
asked. “It’s going to be awfully haunted this after¬ 
noon. It’s so dark.” 

“Oh, scared-cat—don’t come if you don’t want 
to—” David scoffed. “O.K.—I’m coming!” 

“So am I. I want to see the ‘eyes’ in the attic,” 


240 The Hajjpy Tower 

and Michael’s own eyes blinked in happy, if fearful, 
anticipation. 

“I’m going, too!” Patty echoed. 

“Oh no, ye don’t, ye are going to take your nap. 
Ye’ve been crosser than two sticks this morning.” 
And Delia picked Patty up in her arms. 

With dragging feet, Judy followed the others up 
the stairs. Her choice was not one that filled her with 
any happiness. She certainly did not want to stay 
downstairs alone with her mother and Delia. But on 
the other hand, she did not like the idea of playing 
in a “haunted” attic on a rainy day. 

Peter opened the attic door, and faced the others. 
“We are going to search for the money that man 
hid here,” he announced. “We are going to beat Old- 
Lady-Witch to it—” 

“Maybe, if we find it, and give it to her, she won’t 
want the house back,” Cynthia suggested, hopefully. 
“Then we can stay here.” 

“Sure!” Peter agreed. “We’ll give it all to her. 
Now we have to make plans. Cynthia, you go to that 
far side. Davy, you take this one nearest us. You’re 
smaller, Michael, so you hunt in that corner where 
it’s so low. And, Judy, you—” 

“Oh, no! No!” Judy protested, taking a step back. 
“I’ll just look here by the door.” 

Peter snorted in disgust. “Oh, all right. Stay out 
in the hall if you like. I’m going to stand up on the 


Hidden Treasure 


241 


trunks and search the rafters. I’ve got my flashlight. 
Ready now, let’s go—” 

With a whoop, all but Judy charged into the attic. 
It had never looked blacker. And the loud sound of 
the rain on the roof above added to the mysterious 
effect. 

“The ‘eyes’ are awful wobbly today,” Michael said, 
in a decidedly wobbly voice. 

“They have tears in them,” Cynthia suggested, her 
voice high with excitement. 

“Maybe the ‘eyes’ are crying because we are going 
to take the money out of the attic,” David suggested, 
as he crawled about, examining the floor boards. 

“Maybe, the ‘eyes’ are really the eyes of the man 
who stole the money and he’s haunting us.” It was 
Peter, speaking from his perch on the trunk. Nor 
could he have asked for a more gratifying response. 

“Peter Morgan! You stop talking like that this 
minute, or I’ll go right downstairs and tell Mother,” 
Judy cried. Then, putting her fingers in her ears, she 
began to sing lustily at the top of her voice. 

“Look over here, Peter!” Michael cried suddenly. 
“There are lots of holes in the floor over in this 
corner—” 

“Atta boy!” Peter shouted excitedly, jumping down 
off his trunk. “That’s the place he would put them. 
Let’s all crawl around on our hands and knees—” 

Which they did for a long time—or so it seemed. 



242 The Happy Tower 

Peter flashed his light, pounded boards, dug his hands 
into crevices. At last, he crawled out into an open 
space and stood up. 

“Now, where—” And he put his hand to his mouth 
in deep concentration and speculation. “I guess I’ll 
go back to the rafters. I’ll try this other trunk next.” 
And he pulled himself up on it. Then looking down 
at the others, he explained, “What I’m really looking 
for is a hole in these rafters. If I were hiding money 
away, I’d make a hole of my own—” Peter was 
standing on the very edge of the trunk, both arms 
over his head, his hands feeling along a beam. 

“Oh boy!” he shouted triumphantly, “here is a 
hole—I think” As he spoke, he leaned forward at a 
perilous angle, stretching up on tip toes, and at the 
same time searching for his flashlight, which he had 
put in one pocket. 

The crash which followed shook the house. There 
on the attic floor, Peter was lying flat. 

“What happened! What happened!” Cynthia 
screamed. “Did you get pushed?” And she tugged 
frantically at Peter. 

Peter sat up. “No,” he said, in a daze. “I just 
fell.” 

“Oh, Peter!” Cynthia was almost sobbing. “Your 
arm looks so funny.” 

Peter held out his arm, and the children eyed it in 
amazement. It did look funny! 




Hidden Treasure 


243 


"It’s not broken off—it’s still on you,” David said 
with an air of great discernment. “But it is bent,” 
he added. 

“Yes, it does look bent, all right,” Peter echoed. 

Judy was tumbling down the attic stairs, shouting 
at the top of her lungs. 

“Moth-er! Moth-er—Peter bent his arm. Peter bent 
his arm.” 

Mrs. Abbott and Delia came running. 

“Peter’s arm— bent!” Delia kept repeating. “I 
never heard tell of a bent arm!” 

“Oh, dear!” Mrs. Abbott groaned. “What can have 
happened? And with Mother coming in a few days. 
Peter! Peter,” she called, as she mounted the stairs 
to meet him. “Oh, my dear boy, what have you 
done?” 

Peter held out his arm. It was indeed “bent” at 
an amazing and sickening angle. 

Delia and Mrs. Abbott exchanged a quick look of 
distress and understanding. 

“Sure, it’s ‘very bent’ as you say, Davy,” Delia 
said calmly. “So we’ll be having a doctor take a look 
at it.” 

Early the next morning, Peter sat on the top step 
of the porch, the center of an admiring group. His 
five cousins were as close to him as they could get— 
and the two MacGregors, spic-and-span (they were 


244 The Happy Tower 

ready for their trip away to the country) were stand¬ 
ing on the bottom step, staring at him with open- 
mouthed wonder. For Peter’s arm was in a plaster 
cast. He had broken it, searching for hidden treas¬ 
ure in the attic! And since Angus and Allie had seen 
him, he had been X-rayed, and had been given ether 
while his arm was set. 

“This isn’t my only accident!” Peter was explain¬ 
ing modestly. “Once I had four stitches taken in my 
chin. You can see the scar if you look real close. 
That’s when I was three.” All seven in the audience 
promptly “looked real close.” 

“Tell Angus about the time you smashed your fin¬ 
ger in your bicycle chain when you were fixing it,” 
Cynthia ordered, after the scar had been thoroughly 
examined. “He had his nail pulled right off,” she 
boasted. 

Peter paused to swallow importantly, before he 
answered. “That was the winter we were in St. Louis. 
Grandmother was playing in a road company.” 

“And once he sprained his ankle—and he couldn’t 
even stand up—or he would have yelled. A cop had 
to carry him—” David fairly stuttered with excite¬ 
ment. 

Peter nodded. “That was in Denver.” 

“Tell about when your fish bowl broke and cut 
your foot—” Cynthia prompted, her eyes on Angus. 
She was delighted to see that Angus was completely 



Hidden Treasure 


245 


awed by this impressive list of accidents and cities. 

“The fish bowl broke the time we were in New 
Orleans.” 

“Were the fishes killed?” Michael asked in alarm. 

Peter shook his head with a frown. What did the 
fish matter? He was listing his accidents . 

“Daddy said last night that Grandma won’t be sur¬ 
prised when she sees Peter’s arm, and that she’d have 
been surprised if she found Peter all in one piece. 
Daddy says he didn’t think she could have stood it. 
This way is natural!” Cynthia repeated, with an un¬ 
conscious imitation of her father’s tone and manner. 

Angus and Allie laughed. Then Angus said, re¬ 
gretfully, “I guess we’ve got to go now. But maybe 
we can come back. Then you can tell us about some 
more of your accidents, Peter.” 

“So—so—so long if we d-d-don’t get back,” Allie 
stuttered. 

“Goodbye! Goodbye! So long!” 

For a few moments the summer air echoed with 
their shouts. Then the MacGregor boys disappeared 
from sight. Feeling forlorn, Peter sat looking after 
them. Beside him, Cynthia blinked at her tears. 

And David, kicking at the grass, declared, “Oh, 
gee, it won’t be half so much fun around here now.” 

Just then, at that very moment, they all saw it— 
the highest, biggest, strangest automobile one could 
imagine, coming slowly up the street and stopping 
by the curb in front of their house! 



XII 

~ Old-Lady-Witch ~ 

“I bet it’s thirty years old,” Peter said with an air 
of authority, as the car came to a stop. “I never saw 
an older one, not even in the Smithsonian Institute in 
Washington.” 

An old colored man, wearing a chauffeur’s cap, 
got out of the front seat and walked to the back door 
of the car. He moved slowly as though he were very 
stiff in the joints. The children watched him in silence 
as he opened the door and stood by ceremoniously, 
his cap in his hand. Then an old lady emerged from 
the car and held out one arm, which the old man 
took. With her other hand, she leaned heavily upon 
a cane. Slowly, very slowly, they came up the walk 
toward the porch. 

The children stared in fascinated amazement. And 
as the strange pair drew nearer, perplexity was added 
to their amazement. When they looked at her cheeks, 

246 



247 


Old-Lady-Witch 

criss-crossed like a withered apple, they felt sure she 
was very old. But when they looked at her hair, they 
weren’t so sure. Her hair wasn’t white, as old ladies’ 
hair should be. It was black, dead black, like stove 
polish. And her eyes were even more black. Black 
eyes that were searching the house from porch to 
tower, then from side to side. So sharp, so penetrating 
were those eyes that they seemed to be seeing right 
through the walls. Could they see Delia in the kitchen, 
and Daddy and Mother in the dining room, David 
wondered. 

“Oh!” Now she was looking at them. “I see the 
neighborhood has gathered. Probably every child for 
blocks around. You couldn’t play in your own yards, 
I suppose?” 

At the sound of her voice, the six children arose 
in vague alarm. Then Patty and Michael promptly 
fled around the corner of the house—to their own 
yard, the only one they knew. But Peter and Cynthia 
and David and Judy stood their ground bravely. 

With a grim smile, the visitor watched Patty and 
Michael disappear, then turned to Peter. “I imagine 
at this early hour Mr. Abbott is still at home?” she 
asked, with never a glance at Peter’s bandage. 

“Oh, yes!” Peter answered. “He’s inside, eating 
his breakfast.” She might at least have noticed his 
broken arm! 

“Ring the bell, Jefferson,” the visitor ordered 



248 


The Happy Tower 

sharply. “Then go back to the car and wait for me.” 

Silently the four watched, as Delia answered the 
summons of the bell and invited the strange lady in¬ 
side, and the old colored man returned to the car. 

Then Cynthia spoke. “It’s the Old-Lady-Witch,” 
she said in a low, frightened voice. “That’s exactly 
who it is.” 

Judy shivered, then ran after Patty and Michael. 
Old-Lady-Witch—it was all she needed to know. 

With one accord, Peter, Cynthia and David sat 
down on the swing. “Oh, dear,” whispered Cynthia, 
with a glance at the open windows of the living room, 
“she’s come to take the house back.” 

Peter and David did not reply. They were listen¬ 
ing. Cynthia leaned her head against the back of the 
swing. Why did grown-ups always talk so fast when 
they were excited? She could hear the voices inside 
plainly, but not the words. All of them, that is. And 
they were being very polite. 

“But don’t you see, you promised—” 

“But I told you I must sell when I could and now—” 

Back and forth. And soon the voices were not 
nearly so polite. 

“Uncle Tom’s going to get mad in a minute,” whis¬ 
pered Peter. 

But Mrs. Abbott was speaking. “Don’t you see,” 
she said quite distinctly, “we love this house, all of 
us, especially the children.” 


249 


Old-Lady-W itch 

“Well, I don’t love it,” answered Old-Lady-Witch, 
angrily. “I didn’t want it, in the first place. I only 
got it because a scalawag, a perfect scoundrel left it 
on my hands. And now that I have a chance to get 
rid of it, you cannot possibly blame me for taking 
advantage of my opportunity. I am sorry. I shall 
come again to make final arrangements.” 

And without giving Mr. Abbott a chance to reply, 
she appeared on the porch again, and raised her cane 
as a signal to Jefferson to come and escort her back 
to the car. Peter and Cynthia and David looked 
toward the car. There on the running board sat Patty, 
a milk bottle filled with flowers beside her. And, as 
Jefferson got out of the car, she smiled up at him, in 
her most friendly fashion. 

Jefferson came toward the house with a broad grin 
on his face. Apprehensively, the three on the porch 
glanced at Old-Lady-Witch. But they could not see 
her face for her back was toward them. 

From her seat on the running board, Patty watched 
the old lady and the colored man approach her. And 
to the surprise of her brother and sister and cousin, 
they heard Old-Lady-Witch say, in a kind voice, “Are 
those flowers for me, baby?” 

Patty bobbed her head up and down. “For you,” 
she repeated, holding up the milk bottle. 

“Why, the little darling,” exclaimed Mrs. Car- 
stairs. “Take them, Jefferson, milk bottle and all. 


250 


The Happy Tower 

What’s your name, sweetheart?” And she put her 
hand on Patty’s head. 

‘Tatty Ann Abbott!” said Patty loudly, quite burst¬ 
ing with pride and pleasure. 

Mrs. Carstairs turned her head and looked back at 
the house. The child took after her mother, without 
doubt, she thought. But not after her father. The 
father was hot-headed. He hadn’t seemed to under¬ 
stand her point at all. 

“Now get off the step, darling. And thank you so 
much for the pretty flowers. Let me in the car, Jef¬ 
ferson, and be careful of that milk bottle.” 

Patty stood with one finger in her mouth, watching 
the car as it rode away. Then she was swept into 
Cynthia’s arms. “Patty Abbott, you’re wonderful. 
That ought to make her ashamed of herself and I hope 
it does!” 

Patty’s eyes blinked fast, and she squirmed out 
from Cynthia’s grasp. She knew that word ashamed . 
“She gave ’em to me, Cynnie,” she wailed. “Mrs. 
Adams gave ’em to me.” 

At that moment, their neighbor’s head appeared 
above the hedge. “Don’t scold your sister, Cynthia,” 
she said. “I did give the flowers to her, just as she 
said. And is it true that you are going to move away?” 

Cynthia walked over to the hedge. “I guess so. 
Mrs. Carstairs has just been telling my mother and 


251 


Old-Lady -W itch 

my father she wants us to. So I guess we’ll have to 
move unless my father can think of something to do 
about it. Maybe he can, though. He’s good at think¬ 
ing of things to do.” 

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Adams told her then. “More 
sorry than I ever could have imagined I’d be, when 
I saw you all move in. It’s been so cheerful, hearing 
you all around, and so interesting—waiting to see 
what would happen next. I declare, I’ve been sorry 
I engaged that room in the country. Elwood is plenty 
of country, when you come right down to it.” 

“Mrs. Adams says it’s the country, after all,” Cyn¬ 
thia shouted at Peter. 

Rising carefully from his seat on the porch swing, 
Peter was preparing to join Cynthia at the hedge, 
when his uncle burst through the door and ran down 
the steps. 

“I can make that train if anyone can,” he was 
shouting. But half-way down the front walk, he turned. 
“Sue!” he called. “Sue! You go right ahead getting 
that tower room ready for your mother. I’d like to 
see anybody put her out of any place she wants to 
stay! Hear me, Sue? Hear me?” 

“Yes, I hear you,” called Mrs. Abbott from the 
upstairs window. 

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to see him win out,” 
commented Mrs. Adams, as she watched Mr. Abbott, 


252 


The Happy Tower 

arms and legs flying, depart in the direction of the 
station. “He seems to be a man who gets what he 
goes after, no matter how.” 

“He certainly does,” agreed Peter, coming up. 
“And our grandmother’s even better. She’s coming 
to visit, this week.” 

Two days later, another car drew up to the curb 
in front of the tower house. All the Abbotts recog¬ 
nized it at once. It was the big, old car which had 
brought them from the station, the day they moved to 
Elwood. And in it was another “old” lady. But this 
old lady did not have coal black, stove polish hair and 
even blacker eyes. This old lady’s hair was a lovely, 
creamy white, and her eyes were very blue. Her 
cheeks were not criss-crossed with many fine lines, 
like a withered apple. They were soft and pink and 
white, like a baby’s. And at sight of her, there was a 
wild shout of joy, as six children charged toward 
the old car. 

“Grandma! Grandma’s come!” 

Mrs. Abbott and Delia hurried out to the porch. 
Mrs. Abbott’s eyes glistened with tears of happiness, 
and her heart sang that during this visit her mother 
could have a room of her own. It was never so in 
the apartment. But now the children’s happy tower 
room was hers, and hers alone for as long as she 
could stay. That is, if Mrs. Carstairs did not become 


253 


Old-Lady-W itch 

too insistent. . . . Quickly Mrs. Abbott thrust that 
thought from her mind. 

Next door, Mrs. Adams stood at her window and 
watched the scene with intense curiosity. She had 
heard from the children that their grandmother was 
coming, and that she was an actress. Mrs. Adams had 
never seen an actress off the stage, but she had her 
own ideas about what one would look like. 

With an exclamation of surprise, she pulled the 
curtain back still farther and stared. Why, she was a 
lovely little old lady, with soft white hair—a real 
grandmother! But as she continued to watch, and 
saw the little old lady catch one child (Peter first) 
in her arms, then another and another and another, 
and then walk nimbly up the steps and into the house, 
Mrs. Adams knew that “old lady” was something this 
particular grandmother would decidedly not wish to 
be called! She needed no cane nor arm to lean 
upon. Her step was as brisk as that of any of the 
children’s. 

Mrs. Abbott came running down the steps and in 
another minute was in her mother’s arms. “Sue! 
Sue!” Grandma kept repeating. “My darling child!” 
Which was, all the children later agreed, a funny 
thing for Grandma to call their mother. And Mother 
seemed to like it! 

Through the clamor, Delia announced that lunch 
was ready to put on the table. And without going to 


254 The Happy Tower 

her tower room first, Grandma linked her arm with 
Mother’s, and led the way to the dining room. 

“What will you do next, Peter,” Grandma said 
ruefully, looking at Peter’s plaster cast. “Another 
accident! But I am grateful you were here with your 
Aunt Sue when it happened. If you must keep on 
having accidents, boarding school is certainly not the 
place for them.” 

“Sure, and he was very brave about it, Mrs. Wil¬ 
ton,” Delia put in, with an approving nod in Peter’s 
direction. “We never heard a peep out of him—even 
if he was like a sheet of paper, that white. I thought 
he’d faint dead away—but he didn’t.” 

“He has always turned white like that, Delia, with 
all his accidents, but he’s always been a man about 
them,” Mrs. Wilton spoke proudly, as she patted 
Peter’s plaster cast. “That’s real courage—to feel 
sick inside and conquer it.” 

“You haven’t heard yet, Mother, how it happened,” 
Mrs. Abbott added. “There is a real story back of it. 
He was searching for hidden Toot’ in our attic.” 

“Hidden loot!” Mrs. Wilton echoed. “Good gra¬ 
cious, hidden loot! That sounds like something from 
one of Peter’s story books.” 

Peter made a determined attempt to tell the story 
in his own way—but his attempt went down to defeat. 
All of his cousins tried to give their versions, too, 
with most confusing results. 




255 


Old-Lady-W itch 

“Just a minute, children,” Mrs. Wilton appealed, 
completely at sea. “What is all this? Who is Old- 
Lady-Witch? Surely, there is no chance—no danger 
of your having to move out of this house? In spite 
of Peter’s arm, I never saw him looking healthier or 
happier. I couldn’t bear the thought of having to put 
him in a boarding school again. He has never had 
any home life, and he needs it.” 

“I’m afraid it is a matter of moving,” Mrs. Abbott 
replied. “And it does worry me. We couldn’t pos¬ 
sibly go back to an apartment. Yet it took such a 
dreadfully long time to find this house.” 

“We don’t want another house, Grandma—we want 
this one,” Cynthia burst out. “Wait till you see your 
tower room. You’ll love it. Oh, we can’t wait till 
you see it.” 

“Peter has been writing about my tower room—and 
all my life I’ve longed for one. It seems so safe and 
cozy—and away from everything. I know I’ll love it.” 

Late that afternoon, Cynthia climbed the attic stairs, 
so absorbed in anticipation of a visit with her grand¬ 
mother that she was quite unaware that Michael was 
at her heels. How lovely, she was thinking, to be 
alone with her in the tower room. In a way, Cynthia 
felt that the room was hers, she loved it so. But she 
was happy to have Grandma share it—Grandma, who, 
she knew, would love it as she did. 

She stood in the doorway and looked about in aston- 



256 


The Happy Tower 

ishment. Grandma was sitting in a big chair, right in 
the tower part of the room, reading. This was not 
amazing—but the walls were. In no time at all, they 
had been covered with photographs. Many of them 
were hung together with bright ribbons. On the 
bureau, at least a dozen, in frames, were standing, 
one before the other. Around the mirror, many small 
snapshots had been stuck into the frame. 

“Why, Grandma—I never, never saw so many pic¬ 
tures. Who are they? Where did they all come 
from?” 

Mrs. Wilton put her book aside, and with both 
hands beckoned with a welcoming smile. “Come in, 
children! Come in, both of you. I want to enjoy your 
innocent prattle.” (This last she said with a funny, 
little, teasing quirk to her mouth.) 

Cynthia turned her head and to her surprise saw 
that Grandma really was talking to “children” and not 
to one “child.” There was Michael, looking so wist¬ 
ful she couldn’t possibly be cross with him. 

“Those pictures are of all my children, my own 
boy, Peter, and his little Peter, my little girl, and 
all her babies—Cynthia, David, Judy and Michael 
and Patty. Every photograph, every snapshot you 
have all had taken since you were born, are right 
there. Wherever I go, they go along, and just as soon 
as I take off my hat in a hotel room, they come right 
out of the tray of my trunk and surround me. I have 
my dear ones with me every minute.” 



257 


Old-Lady-Witch 

Mrs. Wilton looked up over the rim of her glasses 
at Michael. He was a funny little tyke—and right 
now his round, sensitive, baby face looked so uncer¬ 
tain, so impressed, that she smiled encouragingly. 
Michael was afraid they would not want him there! 

“Do you know who my little girl is, Michael?” she 
asked, holding out one hand. 

Michael came toward her slowly, his eyes very 
large. “My Mother!” he nodded proudly. He had 
been hearing this all day—over and over. 

“And do you know what I called my little girl 
when she was a child? Do you know her name? Be¬ 
sides Mother—of course, I never could call her that,” 
Mrs. Wilton went on. 

Michael swallowed hard and looked at Cynthia for 
help. But Cynthia was going quickly from one pic¬ 
ture to another. He hated to disappoint his grand¬ 
mother. Yet he did not know, he could not guess 
what Grandma called his mother when she was a 
little girl. 

“What does your Daddy call your mother, now?” 
Mrs. Wilton smiled. 

Michael’s face was as solemn and as expression¬ 
less as a china doll. He had no idea—no idea in the 
world what his Daddy called his mother. 

“Try to remember, Michael!” Mrs. Wilton coaxed. 
“He must call her something, indeed he must! Now 
what would you say, if your teacher asked you that, 
when you go to kindergarten in the fall?” 



258 


The Happy Tower 

Michael’s eyes brightened, and he nodded quickly. 
Of course he knew what his Daddy called his mother 
every morning. 

“Termometer!” he answered, proudly. 

£ What /” Mrs. Wilton gasped. “Cynthia, what does 
Michael mean? He says your Father calls your 
mother—” she turned to Michael. “What did you 
say, Michael, dear? I can’t quite make it out—not 
quite!” she added. 

Michael’s mouth quivered, and in a wavering and 
uncertain, little voice repeated, “Termometer. Daddy 
does so call Mother that every morning,” he added 
with a forlorn defiance. 

For a minute even Cynthia was confused. Then she 
laughed so hard she could scarcely answer. “He 
means thermometer . Daddy wants to know what all 
of his thermometers say every day. He says it’s very 
healthy to dress according to the thermometer!” 

“Well!” But Mrs. Wilton quickly stopped her own 
laughter, as she noted the hurt look on Michael’s face. 
“Didn’t you ever hear the name, Sue—or even Su¬ 
sanna, dear?” she asked as she put one arm about 
Michael. 

Michael smiled up at her happily. Of course he 
had. Daddy did say “Sue” once in a while—and 
Peter said “Aunt Sue” all the time! 

“Oh, Grandma!” Cynthia cried out excitedly. “Is 
this a soldier in the Revolutionary War?” 




259 


Old-Lady -W itch 

Mrs. Wilton shook her head. “No, that is a photo¬ 
graph of my Uncle Henry Brooks. He was killed in 
the Civil War. I never saw him—he was killed be¬ 
fore I was born—but my mother used to tell me his 
sad, brave story. He was only twenty-one and he was 
leading his men into battle, when it happened. He 
had just said, ‘Follow me forward, boys’—” 

“And he was shot down,” Cynthia finished. “Just 
think, if he’d been in the Revolutionary War instead 
of that one maybe he would have been with George 

4 

Washington. There’s a mansion down the street where 
George Washington stayed once. Oh, Grandma—” 
and Cynthia dropped the photograph, her lips quiv¬ 
ering, “do you think Old-Lady-Witch really will make 
us move? I love it so here.” 

For answer, Mrs. Wilton went to her bureau, opened 
the top drawer and took out a box of crackers and 
a bar of milk chocolate. 

“This is not much to offer my guests, but I am sure 
you will agree that an afternoon call is never com¬ 
plete without some refreshments—however light. It 
adds something to the friendliness of the occasion. 
Don’t you think so, Cynthia, and you, Michael?” 

They both most certainly did! And it was an extra¬ 
special occasion, for only the two of them to be on 
hand, when refreshments were passed about! Nor 
would they be interrupted, for Peter and David and 
Judy had gone off to the store to get something Delia 



260 


The Happy Tower 

needed for a “company” dinner. (Grandma’s first 
dinner on any visit was always a “company” dinner.) 
And Patty was asleep. 

When Michael saw his grandmother put the cracker 
box and the candy back in her bureau drawer, he 
decided that the “call” was at an end. Once the re¬ 
freshments were eaten, any party was over for 
Michael! He darted for the door. 

“You wouldn’t eat and run, would you, Michael?” 
Mrs. Wilton smiled. 

Michael nodded. He would eat and run! But, of 
course, he must make his party speech. He stood in 
the doorway, and very politely recited what his mother 
had taught him. 

“I had a very nice time, Grandma, thank you very 
much,” he said. Then, with a shy smile, he turned 
and fled. They could hear him tramping down the 
stairs. 

“Come, Cynthia!” Mrs. Wilton pulled a chair over 
beside her own and patted it invitingly. “Come and 
sit beside me, and have a cozy gossip with your 
grandmother.” 

Cynthia accepted the invitation with a radiant smile. 
Her grandmother was talking to her as though she 
were really grown up! 

“Tell me, Cynthia—what’s all this about hidden 
Toot’ in the attic? Surely, it’s just a game? You can’t 
really expect anyone to come after it, as you were all 


261 


Old-Lady-Witch 

trying to tell me at luncheon.” Mrs. Wilton’s face 
was puckered up with mischief. There was some¬ 
thing of Judy’s expression, when Judy wasn’t sure 
whether to be worried or not. For certainly Old-Lady- 
Witch was not a reassuring thought. 

“But before we start, darling, I wish to say one 
thing,” Mrs. Wilton told her granddaughter then. 
“You are not to get upset about this moving business. 
You’re quite right, this is the nicest house that could 
possibly be. Plenty big enough and with a fine yard. 
And as for the tower—” Grandma interrupted her¬ 
self to look around her room with deepest satisfac¬ 
tion. “After all, Mrs. Carstairs told your mother and 
father she would come again to settle everything, 
didn’t she? So you see that means it isn’t all settled 
yet.” 

Cynthia nodded slowly, then asked, “But what 
could be settled besides Old-Lady-Witch’s saying she 
wants us to move? She owns the house.” 

Mrs. Wilton pursed her lips. “I haven’t seen her 
yet,” she said, which somehow seemed to close the 
matter. “Now tell me about that loot!” 

“Well, you see,” began Cynthia slowly. 

Without comment, Mrs. Wilton listened to it all— 
about the old scoundrel, the widows and orphans, Old- 
Lady-Witch and her colored mammy, and the money 
that Peter felt sure was hidden in the attic. 

“Of course,” Cynthia admitted honestly, as the story 


262 The Happy Tower 

drew to its close, “we don’t know for sure that it’s 
here. But money did get stolen. Mrs. Adams said so. 
And Mrs. Carstairs told Daddy and Mother that an 
old scoundrel left this place on her hands. And it is 
exciting and nice and shivery to think about his hid¬ 
ing loot right here, and our maybe finding it.” 

Mrs. Wilton nodded understandingly. “It certainly 
is. But what else have you been doing, honey, besides 
hunting for the loot and getting Peter’s arm broken?” 

For a long time, they talked on and on—about the 
tree houses in the grove, about the rabbits, about the 
underground hut, about Angus and Allie—even about 
the potatoes and the goat and Mr. Seton. 

Then, with an exclamation that startled her grand¬ 
mother, Cynthia cried, “Oh, Grandmother, the Czar¬ 
ina dress! Is it here?” 

Mrs. Wilton looked down at her granddaughter 
with puzzled eyes. “The Czarina dress?” she repeated. 

“The one you wore when you played the part of 
the Czarina,” Cynthia explained. 

“Oh—you mean my Catherine the Great dress. 
That was one of my best parts. How well I remem¬ 
ber the night—” But at sight of the longing on Cyn¬ 
thia’s face, Mrs. Wilton broke off her recollections 
to ask, “But what do you mean, is it here?” 

“In your trunk, Grandma. The one Peter was 
standing on when he fell off and broke his arm. 



263 


Old-Lady-W itch 

Mother said the Czarina dress might be in there. And 
I’ve been wanting to see it for ages and ages.” 

“Ages and ages, is it? Oh, I remember now. You 
mean that old theatrical trunk I shipped to your 
mother several years ago. To be sure, it was filled 
with costumes. Certainly, the Czarina dress is there! 
And my Juliet costume, and Little Buttercup’s rig, 
too.” 

Mrs. Wilton sighed and leaned back in her chair. 
“Ah, me, the night that, as Little Buttercup, I—” 

But for once Cynthia was not interested in a story. 
“Grandma,” she said pleadingly, “do you suppose we 
could go look in the trunk now?” 

For answer, Mrs. Wilton leaned over and took her 
huge handbag from the bureau. “Certainly, my child. 
This very minute. Lead on, Macduff.” 

“So this is the attic!” she said, when Cynthia ush¬ 
ered her through the door. “I must say it does look 
like just the place to hide loot. It is quite the most 
romantic and mysterious attic I have ever seen. It 
certainly is. I can well understand why Peter felt that 
someone would pick one of those dark corners for a 
hiding place for his booty.” 

“There’s your trunk, Grandma!” And Cynthia 
pointed, her voice quivering with excitement. “It’s 
got labels all over it, and your name is on it, too. 
See, Beulah Wilton.” 


264 


The Happy Tower 

“It’s the first trunk I ever had, Cynthia, the one 
that started me on my career—but where on earth is 
that key ring? I certainly put it in here.” 

Cynthia held her breath as her grandmother groped 
about in her big, bulging handbag. At last Mrs. Wil¬ 
ton triumphantly pulled out a key ring dangling with 
keys of every shape and size. “Now keep your fingers 
crossed, Cynthia, my child. The right key should be 
here—I never throw one away. But you never can 
tell. There—I think this is it.” And she went toward 
the trunk with a key separated from the rest. 

Conscientiously, Cynthia crossed her fingers. 

“No, that isn’t it. Well, maybe this one. No—” 

Oh, what if the right key weren’t there, at all? 

“This one, perhaps—.” 

It was the right one. It fitted! Slowly, on creaking 
hinges, the trunk’s lid was lifted. For years the trunk 
had been in damp places, and the hinges were heavy 
with rust. Cynthia leaned forward eagerly, her small, 
straight nose quivering like a rabbit’s. 

“My first trunk! Over thirty years old, it is. And 
things in it I haven’t thought of for half that time, or 
more.” Mrs. Wilton’s fingers played over the small 
boxes stuffed into the compartments of the tray. “And 
here, my dear,” she said, as she lifted up a larger box 
that looked as though it had held candy in days gone 
by, “is the loot!” 

She removed the lid, then smiled broadly. Without 




265 


Old-Lady-W itch 

a word, Cynthia peered into the box. Diamonds! 
Strings and strings of diamonds! Huge ones, such as a 
king would be happy to possess! Cynthia touched 
them, fearfully and gingerly, with the tips of her 
fingers. 

“Paste reproductions of the crown jewels of the 
Romanoffs, my dear,” her grandmother went on. 
“Take that longest chain and put it around your 
neck. There should be a shorter chain, too, that just 
circles the throat, set with rubies, pearls and emer¬ 
alds. Here it is—try them both on, if you like. And 
slip some of the bracelets on your arm—.” Mrs. Wil¬ 
ton was enjoying this moment hugely. 

Without a word, Cynthia slipped the long chain over 
her head. Then she took up the shorter chain of in¬ 
tricate design, and clasped it, with her grandmother’s 
assistance, around her throat. 

“There now, Cynthia,” Mrs. Wilton said, standing 
back in admiration. “You are wearing the diamonds, 
pearls and emeralds, not to mention rubies, of the 
most powerful, and greatest of Queens, Catherine the 
Great. Think of what these jewels have meant in the 
world’s history, and how they have changed it! Such 
chains as you are wearing brought the great dynasty 
of the Russians to a tragic end.” 

Her voice, though low, was vibrant with feeling. 
And Cynthia responded to it, as many an audience in 
the theatre had responded, when Beulah Wilton, on 


266 The Happy Tower 

the stage, was Catherine the Great. Now Mrs. Wilton 
groped in the trunk for another box from which with 
reverent hands she took— 

“A crown,” breathed Cynthia. 

Her grandmother, there in their own attic, was 
holding a crown of jewels in her hands. The crown 
of the Romanoffs! With a reverent gesture, Beulah 
Wilton placed the crown on her granddaughter’s head. 

“Oh, Grandma,” Cynthia gasped. “Oh, Grandma!” 

After a moment of respectful silence, Mrs. Wilton 
turned and lifted the tray from the trunk and placed 
it on the floor. “What care we for time, fair maid?” 
she said. “We are wandering, wandering back through 
the ages.” 

The fascinating, musty smell was heavy in the air. 
Kneeling beside the trunk, Mrs. Wilton turned over 
gown after gown of satin or velvet. 

“Ah! Here it is—a part of Buttercup’s costume. 
I’m dear little Buttercup, sweet little Buttercup . . . 
but that isn’t what you want. Here is the court train 
for you. I won’t bother to take out Catherine’s dress 
now. Anyway, you would swim in it.” 

“I’d rather swim in Catherine the Great’s dress 
than anything I know of,” said Cynthia so earnestly 
that her grandmother laughed. 

“Then you shall,” declared Mrs. Wilton, as Cyn¬ 
thia tingled with delicious excitement. “Tomorrow. 
But not now, before dinner. Your father will be 


267 


Old-Lady-Witch 

here, any minute. We’ll just take out the court train 
and you can slip your arms through the holes, to 
get the effect.” 

The huge court train of green velvet was edged 
with ermine. And as Mrs. Wilton led the way back 
to the bedroom, Cynthia followed, in ecstasy. 

“Now! Slip your arms through these arm holes 
at the top of the train—so! No, don’t look in the 
mirror just yet.” And Mrs. Wilton stooped to adjust 
the long folds. “Now let me put your crown a bit 
more straight. There!” And she turned Cynthia 
around, to look in the mirror. 

Cynthia gasped. “Oh, Grandma! Isn’t it beautiful! 
Isn’t it gorgeous! I love it! I love it! And isn’t one 
of these diamonds real, maybe?” 

Mrs. Wilton shook her head. “I’m afraid not, dear. 
As a matter of fact, I have my doubts as to whether 
any diamond ever was as large as those are. 
But anyway, they are loot and they were in the attic. 
So you see Peter was right, all along, only he didn’t 
look in the right place. Now then, let’s make what 
you call an entrance.” 

Down the stairs swept Cynthia, followed by the court 
train and Mrs. Wilton. And through the door swept 
Mr. Abbott, instantly entering into the spirit of the oc¬ 
casion and not satisfied with his obeisance until he had 
bowed low three times, kissed the hand of Cynthia— 
Catherine—and that of their distinguished visitor. 



268 The Happy Tower 

“Our humble home is glorified, Madame,” he de¬ 
clared. “You are come.” 

Cynthia lay awake for a long time, that night, 
dreaming of Catherine the Great. Tomorrow, Grand¬ 
mother had promised, she could wear the Czarina dress 
itself. She didn’t care how much she swam in it. She 
would sweep from the room, holding her head high 
—my, goodness, what was that? 

The strangest, most mysterious noise was right 
above her head. Something heavy was being dragged 
over the floor above her. Bolt upright in bed, Cyn¬ 
thia listened. Now something else that was big and 
heavy was being dragged along. 

A terrifying thought rushed into her mind. Had 
someone actually come back for the loot in the at¬ 
tic? Someone who had been looking in at the sitting 
room window, maybe, when she had the crown on, 
and the necklaces and the bracelets—and had thought 
they were real. Perhaps the person who had looked 
in had climbed up to Grandma’s window and got¬ 
ten in and . . . 

“Good night, Mother darling!” It was Mother, call¬ 
ing good night to Grandma, up the attic stairs. 
“Everything all right?” 

“All right?” That was Grandma’s voice, cheerful 
and happy, although muffled and far away. “I should 


Old-Lady-Witch 269 

say so. Cozy as a bug-in-a-rug. Everything is perfect. 
Good night.” 

Up above Cynthia’s head, the noise had stopped. 
Down the hall, Mother and Daddy were getting ready 
for bed. Very still in the darkness of her room, Cyn¬ 
thia tried to untangle the mystery. She had heard a 
queer noise. More than one, as a matter of fact. 
But Grandma seemed to be all right. What could it 
be, what could . . . Cynthia was asleep. 



XIII 


~ Saucers of Milk ~ 

Next morning, Cynthia awoke with a feeling of un¬ 
easiness. What had happened? Something—just be¬ 
fore she fell asleep last night. . . . Oh, yes. Some¬ 
thing heavy had been dragged across the floor up¬ 
stairs, right above her head. As she lay looking 
thoughtfully up at the ceiling, she heard Delia’s voice, 
mingled with the chattering and laughing of her 

270 


271 


Saucers of Milk 

younger brothers and sisters. The house was astir. 
Well, whatever it was, everything must be all right, 
for Delia slept up on the third floor, as well as 
Grandma, and she was laughing. 

But what was that? It was the same strange, omi¬ 
nous sound of something being dragged across the 
floor above her head. 

“Peter!” called Cynthia, leaping out of bed and 
toward the door. “Peter, come here quick!” 

Peter came flying. There was no denying the fran¬ 
tic plea in Cynthia’s voice. “What is it, Cynthy? 
What is it?” 

Cynthia pointed a little wildly at the ceiling. “Lis¬ 
ten!” 

Again the strange noise rumbled from above. “Do 
you hear that? I think that thief is up in the attic 
again, after the loot. I bet he heard that Old-Lady- 
Witch is going to sell the house and he thinks that 
this is his last chance.” 

Peter listened, but although part of his mind 
quickly caught Cynthia’s fever of excitement and 
alarm, the other part continued to think calmly. “But 
that isn’t the attic up there, is it, Cynthia?” the think¬ 
ing part told him to ask. “It’s the tower room, isn’t 
it?” And he looked up, frowning in concentration. 
“Yes, it is the tower room,” he went on, slowly. “It’s 
got to be. It isn’t the attic, at all.” 

“But couldn’t he have hidden the money in the 


272 


The Happy Tower 

tower room, maybe? Lots of tower rooms are haunted. 
I’ve read about them,” Cynthia insisted. 

“But Grandma’s there,” Peter reminded her. “And 
if you think Grandma would stay in a room with a 
man searching for money, you don’t know Grandma. 
She’s awfully scary about her room and—” 

A new and terrible thought shot into Cynthia’s head 
then. “Peter!” she gasped. “Maybe Grandma’s not 
there now. Maybe—” 

“Holy smokes!” exclaimed Peter. “I haven’t heard 
her talking this morning, and there’s been a lot of 
noise around.” 

“Let’s tell Daddy,” cried Cynthia, running out the 
door. “Daddy!” 

Peter loitered behind, still looking up at the ceil¬ 
ing. The noise overhead had ceased. All was quiet 
up there. 

“Daddy!” Cynthia was shouting in the hall. 

“Hush, dear!” warned Mrs. Abbott, coming out 
from her bedroom. She stood at the foot of the attic 
stairs and looked up anxiously. 

Peter, at the door of Cynthia’s room, saw Mrs. 
Abbott’s expression. So Aunt Sue was worried, too! 

“Is Grandma—” he began. 

“Hush!” said Mrs. Abbott again. “I want Grandma 
to sleep as long as she wishes.” 

“But she doesn’t wish. Not a wink more. She 
wishes to come down and have breakfast with her 



Saucers of Milk 273 

family. It’s a rare treat,” called a bright voice from 
above. 

Peter and Cynthia looked at each other in profound 
relief. So Grandma was all right, then! But in a 
moment, Cynthia stared at her cousin with renewed 
perplexity. She certainly had heard that dragging 
noise last night. And again this morning. What 
was it? 

Suddenly Peter’s face broke into a broad grin. 
“I’ve got the answer, Cynthia. Come on, I’ll tell you. 
I know what it was.” 

“You’ll never guess, never,” he informed her, 
when they had closed the door of her room to make 
sure of privacy. 

“I don’t intend to guess,” Cynthia told him impa¬ 
tiently. 

“All right. Get ready for a surprise. You’re going 
to drop dead.” 

“I’ll drop dead if you don’t tell me this minute, 
Peter Morgan,” retorted Cynthia, more than a little 
angry at Peter’s superior air. “I suppose you’re go¬ 
ing to tell me Grandma was the one who was dragging 
those trunks around?” 

“I thought you said you wouldn’t guess.” 

“I’m not.” 

“But you did guess.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“Yes you did, too. You said probably Grandma 


274 The Happy Tower 

was pushing the trunks around. Well, it wasn’t trunks. 
It was furniture! But you came so close, you were 
really right, anyway.” 

Cynthia stared at her cousin blankly. 

“Honestly. She always does it in hotels at night. 
First she pulls the bed in front of the door—to barri¬ 
cade it, she says. Then next comes the bureau. Or 
maybe a table, it depends.” 

“Depends on what?” asked Cynthia completely be¬ 
wildered. 

“On how big the room is. If it’s very small, just 
the bed and the bureau and chair will do—or you’d 
push the wall out.” 

Cynthia sat down suddenly on the edge of her bed 
and continued to stare at Peter. 

“You see—” went on Peter with relish, making 
ready for the whole story, “Grandma says it makes 
her feel cozy and safe, like a bug in a rug. She doesn’t 
trust keys. Once a long time ago when she was trav¬ 
eling around, someone got into her room with a pass 
key and stole a lot of rings and pins, which were 
practically family heirlooms. And all the while he 
was doing it, Grandma was asleep and never knew it.” 
Peter paused. Then, satisfied that Cynthia was gen¬ 
uinely impressed, he continued. “So that is why she 
moves the furniture in front of the door. Lots of peo¬ 
ple ask her what she’d do if there was a fire, and she 
always says she’d rather jump out the window into a 




Saucers of Milk 275 

fireman’s net than have someone come in at the door.” 

“But how does she know a fireman’s net would be 
there?” Cynthia asked, sensibly. 

“It would be,” replied Peter, “for Grandma. She’s 
that kind of person.” 

Cynthia sat still, thinking hard. 

“Can Grandma really make things happen exactly 
the way she wants them to?” she asked. 

“She certainly can,” Peter told her. 

“Oh, Peter, do you suppose she could make Old- 
Lady-Witch—” 

Cynthia got no further, for just then her father 
called from the hall, “Everybody out! Everybody out 
for breakfast!” 

Without further discussion, Peter rushed to his 
room to dress, and Cynthia hurried, instead of daw¬ 
dling as she usually did while putting on her clothes. 
Neither wanted to miss the first breakfast with 
Grandma! 

It was a riotous, happy breakfast. 

Looking around the table proudly, Mr. Abbott 
beamed upon his family. “What do you think of this 
sight? Grandma, mother, father—and six children. 
Not to mention our good Delia right at our elbows! 
Quite a sight. And the sun coming through the rose- 
vine around the windows—” 

“Honeysuckle!” Mrs. Abbott corrected with a 
laugh. 


276 The Happy Tower 

“Oh, it is beautiful!” Mrs. Wilton turned her head 
and gave Peter a tender look. “I can’t begin to say 
how happy I am to have Peter a part of this picture, 
even with his arm in a sling.” 

“There is no place like the country for children—• 
no place ” Mr. Abbott declared. “That’s what I’ve 
always said—” 

“Always?” Mrs. Abbott teased, giving her mother 
a funny, little smile. 

“Well—” Mr. Abbott grinned, ducking his head. 
“Well, ever since we’ve been here. Of course, in the 
beginning, I didn’t know what the ‘country’ was like. 
So I couldn’t have any sound ideas on it.” 

“This morning when I woke up, the sun was stream¬ 
ing through the leaves on that beautiful, old oak tree 
and making lovely patterns all over everything in my 
tower room. And I felt as though I were nearer to 
heaven than I had ever expected to be on this earth.” 
And Mrs. Wilton, too, looked down and around the 
table with a proud, happy smile. 

Mr. Abbott smiled back at her, as though he were 
personally responsible for the sun, the beautiful, old 
oak tree and the tower room. 

“That is just the way I felt the first morning after 
we moved out here,” he replied. “The peace and 
quiet—the fragrance of the country wafting through 
the windows. Beautiful! Peace—there’s nothing like 
it,” her son-in-law declared. 



277 


Saucers of Milk 

Cynthia stared at her father. Then her mouth parted 
and her eyes opened wide. That first morning! The 
cats and the shoes and the window and the lost fun¬ 
nies! Quiet! Glancing at her mother, she caught the 
sly little wink Mrs. Abbott gave her. 

“Yes, we can truthfully say the peace and quiet 
of that first morning was something that we never ex¬ 
pected on this earth. Have another piece of toast. 
Tommy dear?” Mrs. Abbott asked sweetly. 

Mr. Abbott looked over his glasses suspiciously. 

“Oh, by the way—don’t you expect to hear from 
Mrs. Carstairs today?” his wife asked quickly. 

“That’s Old-Lady-Witch,” Peter explained to his 
Grandmother. “She wants us to move, you know.” 

“No, not today,” Mr. Abbott told his wife. “I 
got a message at the office yesterday that she won’t 
be back until next Monday—called out of town or 
something.” 

“She wants us to get out of our tower house! Daddy, 
don’t let her, don’t let her!” Cynthia begged. “Oh, 
Grandma, wouldn’t it be awful? We love it so here!” 

“Don’t put that thought on it,” Mrs. Wilton said 
quickly. “Don’t put the thought out that you are go¬ 
ing to have to move. Keep thinking that it’s going 
to be all right and beautiful. I do believe it helps!” 

“Didn’t you ever think something was going to go 
as smooth as silk, and have it go as smooth as barbed 
wire?” Mr. Abbott asked, with a twinkle in his eyes. 



278 The Happy Tower 

“Well, I’d still have an advantage over your way. 
You would be having headaches and worries all the 
way, right through to the end, while I’d only have it at 
the end.” 

“Very well, dear Mother, this minute I am think¬ 
ing the loveliest thoughts.” And Mr. Abbott shut his 
eyes, as though in a dream. “I am thinking that our 
delightful, kindly, big-hearted landlady is going to 
telephone me as soon as she gets back next week and 
she is going to say, ‘My dear Mr. Abbott, I want to 
apologize to you and that lovely wife of yours for 
causing you a moment’s uneasiness. I wouldn’t for 
the world force you and your children to leave my 
tower house.’ ” 

The children laughed loudly at the sally. Daddy 
was so funny! They had all seen Old-Lady-Witch, 
and they knew only too well how impossible this beau¬ 
tiful “thought” was. 

Mrs. Wilton joined in the laughter. Then she said, 
“Just you wait! All this beautiful morning I shall 
go right on thinking that you are going to live in this 
house as long as you wish. But I’m going to think 
more than that, too. I’m going to work out a plan 
of action. That’s what you need—a plan of action!” 

Rising from his seat at the head of the table, Mr. 
Abbott bowed low. “Madame Grandmother, I yield 
to the family dynamo. Little does Mrs. Carstairs real- 


279 


Saucers of Milk 

ize, as she sips her morning coffee, that she has less 
than a chance in a thousand of getting her house back, 
now that you are in action.” 

“Tom dear,” protested Mrs. Abbott, “don’t raise the 
children’s hopes. Even Mother may not be able to—” 

Mr. Abbott held up his hand. “My dear, I was 
merely stating a fact. Once your mother decides 
something is to be done, her goal is practically 
achieved. I state it. I reaffirm it! And—goodbye!” 

Mrs. Wilton decided to spend the morning out 
in the back yard with its two cherry trees, one apple 
tree, and its very mangy, beetle-eaten rose vines. 

“Come, children,” she called. “I want you all near 
me. And the more noise you make, the better I’ll be 
able to think.” 

Delia carried out a wicker chair into the yard, and 
began to pile it with pillows. 

“Now! Now! Delia don’t pamper me, don’t spoil 
me—I am not in the least used to it. I like sitting 
right up straight. On the stage I may play at being 
an old lady—that’s my business. But I can assure 
you, I am not one. I am working just as hard as I 
did thirty years ago—and I like it!” 

“Sure and if it isn’t a fact,” Delia agreed with 
hearty approval. “But even the youngest and best 
must have a bit of rest now and then. But don’t 
worry that ye’ll be getting too much of a rest. I’m 
after warning ye, ma’am, if ye have all them young- 



280 


The Happy Tower 

sters around all morning, it’s little enough ye’ll have.” 
Delia grinned and shook her head. 

For answer, Mrs. Wilton smiled happily down at 
Peter, Cynthia, and David, squatting on the grass be¬ 
side her. In a riotous hubbub they were trying to 
read her the postals which had just come from Angus 
MacGregor. Even if they had been presented quietly, 
the cards would have needed a deal of explaining. 

Mrs. Wilton put on her glasses and held out her 
hand. “One at a time, darlings,” she said. “First 
you, Peter. Show me your card.” 

Peter’s postal was addressed to Mr. Peter Robinson 
Crusoe Morgan. The message read, Dear Watermelon 
Pete. Have you broken your other arm yet? Your 
man Friday. 

Mrs. Wilton looked up over her glasses at Peter 
with a funny little three-cornered smile. 

“I’ll wait for the explanation, Grandson. Show 
me yours, Cynthia.” 

Miss Cynthia Agnes Abbott , Grandma read, and 
then shook her head. “Curious and curiouser—why 
Agnes?” Then she looked at the message. Dear Cyn¬ 
thia ., how’s Dick Wentivorth? Hope he finds treas¬ 
ure for you. With love from your friend Angus- 
Agnes. 

Cynthia’s face was a lively pink, as she noted the 
twinkle of amusement in her grandmother’s eyes at 
this signature. Wasn’t Angus— silly! 


Saucers of Milk 281 

David’s card came next. It had been sent to Mr. 
David Tuesday Abbott , and his message read, Dear 
Davy-the-goat-boy! How do you like watermelons? 
The signature was just Friday. 

Mrs. Wilton put these remarkable cards in her lap 
and laid her hands quietly upon them. Her eyes 
were bright with anticipation. 

“I am going to have a perfectly lovely morning, 
I can see. All right, let’s begin. Tell me what all 
these strange messages mean with their hints at in¬ 
trigue.” 

Before the three in the audience could reply, Patty, 
Judy and Michael came tumbling over the lawn. But 
after some warnings from the older children of the 
punishment that would follow interruptions, and smil¬ 
ing requests from their grandmother, they subsided 
in silence. Grandma wanted each postal card ex¬ 
plained in detail and with all its trimmings, it seemed 
—a desire Peter and Cynthia and David happily ful¬ 
filled. But the strain of being “hushed” proved too 
much for Patty. She soon wandered off, followed a 
little later by Michael. Judy stayed to prove that she 
had every right to be there, even if Angus and Allie 
hadn’t sent her a post card. Cynthia and Peter and 
David weren’t going to leave her out! 

And they didn’t. They explained all about the 
post cards, then invited Grandma to go with them 
to see the hut before she went away. Angus and Allie 


282 


The Happy Tower 

had left it in their charge, Peter explained. And even 
if Grandma didn’t want to crawl inside, she could 
see it, anyway. 

“All my life I have never had a happier morning,” 
Mrs. Wilton told her daughter across the lunch table. 

Then Cynthia remembered. “But, Grandma,” she 
asked, “the plan of action!” 

Serenely Mrs. Wilton smiled at her oldest grand¬ 
daughter. “Almost ready,” she reassured her grand¬ 
children with a smile that included them all. “Give 
me a beauty-nap, as soon as lunch is over, and I’ll 
have my idea. Then with the rest of the week to per¬ 
fect it, I should like to see Old-Lady-Witch get the 
upper hand. The idea of asking you to move from 
this perfect place!” 

“Didn’t I tell you she’d fix it,” Peter whispered to 
Cynthia, after Grandma had gone up the attic stairs 
and closed her door for the nap. “Grandma can do 
everything.” 

“Are you sure, Peter? What if even Grandma 
can’t—” 

“I guess I know what she can do, all right,” re¬ 
turned Peter, then, forgetting the beauty nap, he 
shouted at the top of his lungs, “Hurry up, you fel¬ 
lows. We’ve got to look over that hut this afternoon. 
And I’m going to buy a postal card to write to Angus 
and tell him everything’s all right.” 

“Maybe we’ll help milk the goat, too,” he added 
to Cynthia. “Want to come?” 


283 


Saucers of Milk 

Cynthia shook her head. “I’d rather read.” Be¬ 
sides, although she did not mention it, there was the 
Czarina dress to try on. 

After the boys had disappeared, she went out into 
the back yard, curled up in the chair which Mrs. Wil¬ 
ton had occupied that morning, and prepared to re¬ 
read Little Women. It was queer about books, she 
thought. Some you liked once—like Angus’ Dick 
Wentworth story. But you would never think of go¬ 
ing back over them again. You knew everything in 
them just by reading them once. 

But Little Women was different. Meg and Jo and 
Beth and Amy were like your own friends. Why, 
they were your friends. And no matter how many 
times you were with them, you wanted to be where 
they were, some more. Opening the book, Cynthia 
flicked the pages rapidly. This was another nice thing 
about favorite books—you didn’t need to begin at 
the beginning again, unless you especially wanted to. 
You could go straight to the place you most wanted 
at the moment. . . . Today, for some reason, the part 
about Jo’s cutting off her hair appealed to Cynthia. 
And, as she read, thoughts of Grandma’s plan of ac¬ 
tion were woven into her reading of the well-loved 
pages. ... Was Grandma awake from her nap by 
now? And had she thought of something to do about 
Old-Lady-Witch? Grandma and Jo were a lot alike, 
when you come right down to it. . . . 

She had just begun to twist her hair around her 



284 


The Happy Tower 

finger when she heard a faint little, “Miaouw.” What 
was that? In another instant, Jo tumbled to the 
ground along with Meg and Beth and Amy and the rest. 

“It’s mine!” Cynthia cried in ecstasy. “It’s going 
to be all mine! Come, kitty. Come here, you sweet 
little thing.” 

Its tail straight up in the air, the small grey kitten 
walked into Cynthia’s arms. 

“My little grey kitten! Exactly the kind I wanted 
most.” And she held the soft little bundle of fur up 
against her face. “You darling!” 

Then she ran toward the back door. “Mother! 
Delia! Let me in, Delia. See what I have.” 

Delia came to the door and looked through the 
screen. 

“Glory be to goodness, look at that now,” she 
smiled. “Where on earth did ye get him, Cynthia?” 

“Isn’t it amazing?” gurgled Cynthia. “He walked 
right around the corner of the house and found me. 
He knew just where I was.” 

“Sure, and I’ll never doubt it. Strange things like 
that do be happening in this world. Was ye by any 
chance putting yer thoughts on him now, like yer 
grandmother was after telling about at breakfast?” 

“Oh, yes! I’ve been thinking about him for ages.” 
And Cynthia rubbed her warm, flushed cheek against 
the kitten’s fur. “Isn’t he sweet—so soft. I love 
him!” 


285 


Saucers of Milk 

Mrs. Abbott came up behind Delia and looked 
down at the small, soft bundle in Cynthia’s arms. 

“What a pretty, little kitten! Whose is he?” she 
asked smiling. 

“Whose is he!” Cynthia gasped in surprise. “Why, 
he’s mine, of course. Daddy promised him to me, 
’way back in the apartment. Don’t you remember, 
Mother?” 

Mrs. Abbott nodded. Then she spoke slowly, “But 
so far as I know your Daddy never saw that kitten— 
or I am sure he would have told me.” (Could she be 
too sure this would be so, she asked herself, recalling 
the rabbits.) “No, Cynthia, that can’t be your kitten. 
It must belong to someone in the neighborhood. You 
must find its owner.” 

Tears came to Cynthia’s eyes, and she looked up at 
her mother imploringly. “Oh, Mother! He came 
right up to me. And he’s purring—he wants to stay. 
Oh, Mother!” 

“Sure, and that’s right, Mrs. Abbott. It was sort 
of a wonderment how he came, a miracle, ye might 
say. I’ve a feeling in me bones he was meant for 
Cynthia.” Delia was touched at the heartbreak in 
the small face above the kitten. 

“It is a sweet little thing,” Mrs. Abbott admitted. 
“And I would be only too glad to let you keep it, 
Cynthia darling. But, don’t you see, more than likely 
some other little girl or boy loves him for a pet, and 


286 


The Happy Tower 

would feel terribly to have him lost? That’s what he 
is, I am afraid, a little, lost kitty. He’s not just a 
neglected little alley cat—his fur is much too soft.” 

“Can’t I even give him a saucer of milk?” 

“Oh, yes. But then you must let him go back to his 
home. Cats find their way back where they belong. 
Don’t feed him more than once, though, or he will 
settle down here.” 

Cynthia bent her head over the kitten so her mother 
would not see the sudden joy in her face. So—he 
would stay if she fed him again. That was a happy 
thought! 

After she had given the kitten his saucer of milk, 
and had been thrilled to her toes at the way he lapped 
it up, she went out of the front door with him in her 
arms. To all appearances, she was taking him to look 
for his rightful owner. But actually she was going 
straight to the Van Winkle place. She wanted to show 
him to Peter and her brothers. 

The boys were enraptured. A kitten had many more 
possibilities for fun than stupid rabbits and turtles. 
And not for a second did they consider the fact that 
they might not keep him—until Cynthia told them 
the whole story. 

“Mother says if we feed him, he will stay with us 
—he will keep coming back,” Cynthia eyed Peter in¬ 
tently. Would he get her idea? Peter did, instantly. 

“Let’s drop him just a little way from our house. 


287 


Saucers of Milk 

but so he can see it,” he suggested. “And if we put 
a saucer of milk under the back porch—why—why—” 
he broke off, guiltily. Then he asked, “We can’t let 
a sweet little kitten like this starve, can we?” 

“And don’t let’s tell anyone the milk is there, ex¬ 
cept the kitten. He can keep coming for it all the 
time—until he always stays at our house. Then 
Mother will know he loves us best.” Cynthia’s eyes 
were shining with hope. 

For the next three or four days, some one of the 
family was always saying in great surprise, “Why, 
here’s that little, grey kitten again!” 

“Did you try to find his owner?” Mrs. Abbott 
asked over and over. And over and over came the 
answer, “Nobody’s come to ask for him at all. Oh, 
Mother, let’s have him! Please! Please!” 

But Mother was firm. “I can’t promise until I 
know that he is not some child’s lost pet.” 

All the children loved the little kitten better than 
any pet they had ever had. Even Mr. Abbott fre¬ 
quently declared, “If his owner doesn’t care enough 
about him to look for him, he deserves to lose him. 
It’s the best pet we’ve had so far. In fact, there can 
be none better until I get that puppy I’ve promised 
myself—and all of you.” 

Peter even went so far as to cancel his order for 
the alligator. He couldn’t have an alligator biting off 
the soft, furry toes of this sweet, little pussy. Any- 



288 


The Happy Tower 

way, they had been much too long in sending it. 
With the refund generously advanced by Mrs. Wilton, 
he bought a catnip mouse and ball for their pet. 

“It does seem strange,” Mrs. Abbott said to Delia, 
in the kitchen. “That kitten is always here! I can’t 
understand it.” 

“Sure, the whole thing’s strange and weird. Now 
if I was a child back in Ireland, I’d be thinking the 
fairies brought him,” Delia replied, with never a 
word about the saucers of milk that kept going out 
the back door in a pair of hands! “What’s more, it’s 
a blessing in disguise, I’m telling ye, Mrs. Abbott. 
It’s took their minds off that old witch that’s coming 
next Monday.” 

Mrs. Abbott sighed. “I wish I could feel as confi¬ 
dent as Mother about the outcome. She says it’s all 
as good as fixed. But what she is going to do, she 
won’t say. Oh, dear.” 

“Whatever it is, it’ll turn the trick, ma’am. Mrs. 
Wilton, she knows how.” 



Little Patty 


XIV 

~ Grandma’s Secret ~ 

All Sunday afternoon and Monday morning the 
children played with their new pet and laughed them¬ 
selves weak at his antics. Funniest of all, they agreed, 
was what he suddenly began to do just after Monday 
lunch, on the back porch. He hunched his back, 
walked sideways on tiptoes, then charged on the cat¬ 
nip mouse. 

“I’m going to get Grandma,” Cynthia said, when 
the kitten repeated the trick, obligingly. 

Mrs. Wilton, she knew, had settled down on the 
front porch to read. But as Cynthia turned the cor¬ 
ner of the house, she heard voices. Cocking her head, 
she recognized her grandmother’s voice. But whose 

289 



290 The Happy Tower 

was the other one? It had a certain familiar ring to it. 
Then her eyes fell on a big, clumsy-looking automobile 
at the curb. At its wheel was an old colored man in 
a chauffeur’s hat. Goodness! It was Old-Lady-Witch 
again. They had forgotten all about her! 

Cynthia walked slowly across the grass and could 
not believe what she saw. Old-Lady-Witch was sit¬ 
ting on the porch swing with Patty almost in her lap, 
she was that close! And Grandma and Old-Lady- 
Witch were not only talking, they were laughing— 
like old, old friends. Cynthia stood still, her heart 
pounding for all it was worth. The two women had 
not heard her light footfall on the grass, and they 
were much too interested in each other to turn their 
heads. Cynthia took a few more steps toward the 
porch stairs, then stood still again. Now they could 
not see her, even if they looked up, for she was hid¬ 
den from their view by the old wisteria vine that 
rambled up one of the pillars on the porch. She sud¬ 
denly remembered happily—and in excellent time— 
that her mother had often told them not to burst in 
upon grown people when they were busily talking 
unless it was something very important. And after 
all, funny as the little grey kitten was, he was not 
really important! There was nothing for her to do 
but sit down on the bottom step of the porch and 
wait until Grandma and Old-Lady-Witch were through 
talking. It couldn’t possibly be wrong for her to 



Grandma s Secret 


291 


overhear what they were saying because they didn’t 
mind Patty’s listening to them. 

“My dear Mrs. Wilton!” Old-Lady-Witch was pro¬ 
testing over something, but she was laughing at the 
same time. 

Cynthia on her bottom step squirmed with excite¬ 
ment. “My dear Mrs. Wilton!” Imagine! She was 
not saying “My dear” as she had said “My dear Mr. 
Abbott” when she was arguing last week with Daddy. 
She was saying it as though she really meant it. 

“My dear Mrs. Wilton!” Old-Lady-Witch pro¬ 
tested again. “But I am years older than you. In¬ 
deed I am. / am an old lady.” 

“Age? What is age?” Mrs. Wilton laughed now. 
“Busy people never have time to grow old —they 
never have time. They have too much to do. Only 
idle people grow old.” 

“But think of it, Mrs. Wilton—I was—we were, my 
husband and I, celebrating a double event the night 
of that theatre party when we first saw you. It was 
our twentieth wedding anniversary and our son’s eight¬ 
eenth birthday. It was a gala night. And that night, 
my dear, was over thirty years ago. Think of it! 
I had my golden wedding day—several years ago— 
and quite alone—” Old-Lady-Witch said this last 
very, very softly and wistfully. Cynthia could scarcely 
hear her. She wished she could see her face, for she 
felt that it was no longer witch-like. Cynthia was sure 



292 The Happy Tower 

there must be tears misting Mrs. Carstairs’ eyes, for 
tears were misting her voice. 

“But what a lovely night it was!” Old-Lady-Witch 
went on, after a little tingling pause. “I have never 
forgotten it. Never for one minute. It was spring, 
and spring down in the deep south is not like spring 
anywhere else on earth. It is years now since I have 
been in New Orleans in the spring—” 

“There is no city in the whole country that holds 
the charm and allure for me that New Orleans has—I 
have a very warm spot for it in my heart. A roman¬ 
tic, old-world atmosphere—” Mrs. Wilton spoke in 
what Cynthia called to herself a “faraway” voice. 

“I must tell you—” Old-Lady-Witch hurried on, 
“I must tell you what happened that night. Our boy 
fell in love with you—he did, indeed! After we left 
the theatre, we drove back to our home—we were to 
have a big dance for the young people that we had 
taken to the theatre. But my boy did not return with 
us, nor did several of the other young men.” Old- 
Lady-Witch chuckled at the memory. “You never saw 
anything, not anything, like the indignation of a half 
dozen lovely young ladies who had to sit out the first 
dances alone. Their beaux had disappeared into the 
sweet perfumed air of a Louisiana spring night. They 
had vanished. The young ladies’ faces were funny— 
one could see their struggle—should they stay and 
wait for their wandering beaux? But southern belles 





Grandmas Secret 


293 


do not wait—! They were tossing their proud little 
heads and preparing to leave, when the boys dashed 
in. It seemed they had joined a group of the gay 
young blades who had followed Beulah Wilton’s car¬ 
riage to her hotel. I believe they were forgiven quite 
promptly because the young ladies themselves had 
been completely enthralled with Beulah Wilton. In 
fact, they wished that they, too, had been under your 
hotel window to serenade you. They were not jealous, 
because you stood to them for all the charm and love¬ 
liness that women can possess. Their beaux were 
only saluting beauty, and they had had the good taste 
to come back to their belles who were also beautiful. 
I think the girls admired them immensely for their 
gallantry to a lovely lady—” 

“Tell me—” Mrs. Wilton broke in. “Tell me 
about that serenade. I must get these details straight. 
I have a young granddaughter who delights in details 
—and I am afraid I get very hazy and mixed up—” 

“And small wonder, considering all that has come 
your way in tributes! Don’t you remember coming 
out on your balcony?” 

“Yes, I do remember! They have such lovely and 
romantic balconies in New Orleans. I remember that 
very well. But I have forgotten whether my sere¬ 
nades had mandolins, guitars or banjos. I am sure 
Cynthia will want to know. You have no idea the 
questions she can ask!” 



294 The Happy Tower 

Cynthia was nodding in perfect agreement. She 
did wish to know! Indeed she did! 

“Most certainly they had mandolins, guitars and 
banjos—what is a serenade without them?” Old- 
Lady-Witch answered promptly. Then both ladies 
laughed again in delight. 

“I wish you could have heard my boy describe 
how you looked when you came out on that bal¬ 
cony—” 

“Ah! And what would he have thought if he had 
known I was a widow with two children? What¬ 
ever would he have thought if he had known I was 
over thirty?” And Mrs. Wilton shook her head smil¬ 
ingly. 

“He would have brushed your age and your chil¬ 
dren out of his mind. You were a very beautiful and 
lovely young girl to him. And he was right. You 
were very young and very lovely that night. Please 
remember I saw you—and from a front box. You 
can’t laugh that fact away. / saw you!” 

“Dear me—this is all very heartwarming. I do 
wish Cynthia could hear you—it sounds so much 
better than the way I would tell it!” 

Cynthia was all atingle. Standing up, she was just 
about to rush up the steps and tell her grandmother 
that her wish had been granted, when the conversa¬ 
tion continued quickly and Cynthia remembered about 
interrupting. 




Grandma s Secret 


295 


“Did your boy ever know that I had two children, 
and—” Mrs. Wilton asked. 

“No, our boy never did. We lost him—before he 
got through the university—” Mrs. Carstairs’ voice 
broke and Cynthia knew she was far from being Old- 
Lady-Witch at that minute. 

“I lost my only boy, too,” Mrs. Wilton said gently. 

“But you are a fortunate woman, Mrs. Wilton, 
having a daughter, her fine husband, all those beau¬ 
tiful grandchildren. And then, too, your days filled 
with interesting work.” 

There was a quiet little pause. And Cynthia was 
glad they had not noticed her, even though she was 
standing up and could see them plainly. Mrs. Car- 
stairs was looking down into her lap and twirling a 
flower which she held in one hand. Cynthia recog¬ 
nized the flower at once, for it had come from Mrs. 
Adams’ garden. She looked at Patty. Patty was sit¬ 
ting proudly beside her new friend. 

Now Mrs. Carstairs raised her head, and, seeing 
Cynthia, she smiled pleasantly. Mrs. Wilton, too, 
turned her head, then held out her hand. 

“Come, Cynthia, I want Mrs. Carstairs to know 
you. This, Mrs. Carstairs, is my daughter’s biggest 
girl—her first born. Cynthia is just like her mother. 
She is all Morgan, not an Abbott at all.” 

Mrs. Carstairs held out her hand, her black eyes 
soft now, and filled with amusement. 


296 


The Happy Tower 

“I am very happy to know Cynthia. Yes, I can 
see the resemblance to her mother. Your mother is 
a very pretty woman, my dear. I am sorry she is out 
this afternoon—but at the same time, I am glad to 
meet your grandmother again and have a good talk 
with her,” she added with smiling emphasis. 

“Yes, again!” Mrs. Wilton put in. “You see—or 
rather you hear, darling, Mrs. Carstairs said again? 9, 

Cynthia bobbed her head up and down. “Yes, yes, 
I know, Grandma!” 

“You know! Dear me, your little granddaughter 
is an elfin or fairy child—she senses these things 
without being told! Indeed she does look as though 
she knew all about us—” Mrs. Carstairs smiled— 
but looked rather bewildered. 

“It was in New Orleans—” Cynthia burst out 
eagerly. And she was just about to explain—although 
a gleam in her grandmother’s eyes showed that she, 
at least, thought she understood, when Peter came up 
on the porch with the little grey kitten in his arms. 

“I’m delighted you have arrived, Peter!” Mrs. 
Wilton said. “I want Mrs. Carstairs to meet you. 
Mrs. Carstairs, this is my son’s little boy. This is the 
little Peter who has taken the place of my big boy 
Peter. This Peter has been my companion for many 
years now. But it is not good for a boy to have only 
a grandmother as his best pal and friend. I am afraid 
that too often I have treated him as though he were 



Grandma s Secret 


297 


grown up. Peter is very happy in this big family of 
children—in their beloved tower house!” 

“I am sure you are happy here, Peter. But you 
have been very fortunate indeed to have had such a 
remarkable grandmother for a pal. She will be an 
inspiration for you all your days.” Mrs. Carstairs 
smiled warmly. Then she turned from Peter to his 
grandmother, and back again, her eyes soft with sym¬ 
pathy and understanding. “My, Peter, you have a 
very pretty little kitten—Why!” she broke off. “Why 
I do declare, yes, it looks for all the world like one 
of Mrs. Randolph’s batch. My neighbor’s beautiful 
angora recently had a litter of kittens which unfor¬ 
tunately took more after their father than their mother. 
He did not come from the same aristocratic stock.” 

There was a tense silence, during which Mrs. Car- 
stairs looked from face to face. Cynthia’s lip was 
quivering. And Peter was holding the kitten very 
tight. 

“We must confess, Mrs. Carstairs,” Mrs. Wilton 
explained. “This is not our kitten at all. He has 
been coming here for days and the children have 
grown to love him. It has been understood from the 
first, however, that should his rightful owner appear, 
they must return him.” 

To their surprise, Mrs. Carstairs greeted this in¬ 
formation with a gay little laugh. “I can say right 
now, that Mrs. Randolph will only be too happy to 


298 The Happy Tower 

feel her kitten has a home where he will be appre¬ 
ciated, as I am sure he will be here. I’ll tell her that 
I told you to keep him. Well, I must be saying good¬ 
bye.” 

“You have made us deeply indebted to you today, 
Mrs. Carstairs,” Mrs. Wilton told her in a happy voice. 
“More indebted than you can know.” 

“And I am indebted, too,” declared Mrs. Carstairs. 
“Well, goodbye, baby,” and she put her hand on Pat¬ 
ty’s head. “Do you know, that day when I was so 
worried, this little sweetheart gave me a milk bottle 
filled with flowers? Mrs. Abbott must be a genius to 
have grown such flowers so quickly, and during her 
first summer in the suburbs, at that. I have a hard 
time with them myself!” 

Cynthia opened her mouth to say that the flowers 
came from Mrs. Adams’ garden, but her grandmother 
caught her eye and gave a little wink, before she 
could speak. “Let me handle this,” she seemed to be 
saying. 

“My daughter does love flowers,” Mrs. Wilton told 
their visitor then. “I am sure that given time, she 
could have a lovely garden—” 

The kitten in her arms, Cynthia watched the car 
start down the street. Then she flung herself upon 
her grandmother. “Grandma! Did she mean we can 
stay in our tower house?” 


Grandmas Secret 


299 


Mrs. Wilton untwined the arms about her. “Now, 
my child,” she said firmly. Then she shook her head 
from side to side, in the queer little way she had, her 
face puckered up with mischief and mystery. “There 
is a time and a place for all things in this world. And 
the time for my answer is tonight. The place will be 
the dinner table when your mother and father are 
here. Do you perchance think they are less interested 
than you in the decision? Have you forgotten that 
your grandmother is an actress? The entire cast must 
be on the stage—Daddy, Mother, Delia, Peter, Cyn¬ 
thia, David, Judy, Michael and Patty. And Grand¬ 
mother plumb in the center! Now I must have a little 
beauty nap.” 

Without another word, she vanished into the house, 
returning in a moment to say, “And after dinner, 
Cynthia my dear, you may make your own grand 
entrance as Catherine the Great in her Czarina dress.” 

Cynthia sat down on the top step and gloomily 
considered the situation. Even the thought of the 
Czarina dress held no allure at that moment. 

“Do you think we’ve got to move?” she asked her 
cousin. 

Peter sat down beside her. “No, I don’t think so. 
If Old-Lady-Witch has been mean, I think Grandma 
would have told us right away so that we could get 
over with it by the time Uncle Tom comes home to¬ 
night. Besides, Old-Lady-Witch seemed awfully 
pleased with herself when she said goodbye.” 



300 The Happy Tower 

“That might have been about the kitten,” Cynthia 
suggested unhappily. 

Again Peter shook his head. “No, I don’t think 
it was the kitten. But maybe she’s only going to let 
us stay the rest of the summer.” 

“I don’t see why Grandma wouldn’t tell,” went on 
Cynthia, resentfully. 

“If you’d lived with her as long as I have, you’d 
know she’s got to do things her own way. And in the 
end, you like it, most of the time,” Peter admitted. 

When Mother got back, Grandma wouldn’t tell her 
a thing. Then it seemed ages before Daddy came 
home. And when he kissed Grandma and asked, 
“Well, what was the verdict,” Mrs. Wilton playfully 
shook her head at him, too. “Don’t you wish you 
knew,” she replied. And that was that. 

All through the soup course, the children looked at 
their grandmother with beseeching eyes. Can’t you 
see, dear, dear Grandma, that we can scarcely swallow, 
we’re so worried, their eyes were saying. But 
Grandma ignored their pleading. She was in no 
hurry, no hurry at all. Her face was wreathed in 
smiles. And she sipped her soup from her spoon 
slowly and deliberately. 

When at last Delia had removed the soup plates 
and was bringing in the meat platter, Mrs. Wilton 
drew a deep breath and said, “Tom, do you remember 
my saying that you should put out happy thoughts to 


301 


Grandmas Secret 

work on Mrs. Carstairs, the owner of this house?” 

“I most certainly do! And you said if I did, the 
Old-Lady-Witch would get big-hearted and generous. 
Well?” 

Mrs. Wilton looked around the table, as if to make 
sure everyone was listening. They were! 

“The most amazing thing happened this afternoon, 
the one thing I couldn’t have predicted,” she said. 
“When Mrs. Carstairs came—” 

Delia, having deposited the meat platter, was stand¬ 
ing beside Mrs. Abbott’s chair. “Why, Delia,” Mrs. 
Wilton now said gently and approvingly, “you haven’t 
brought the corn fritters. If there is one thing I am 
fond of, it is corn fritters,” she informed her tense 
audience, with a sparkling smile, “made just the way 
Delia cooks them with—” 

“Hang corn fritters!” Mr. Abbott exploded. 

“Please, Mother darling.” It was Mrs. Abbott, her 
eyes anxious, for all that she knew her mother’s ways 
so well. 

“Very well. I might as well tell you now, Tom. 
Your beautiful thoughts were of no use whatever.” 

“But what did she say, Grandma?” asked Cynthia. 

“She said that she simply must get rid of all worry 
about her property, including this house. She wants 
to go home. She hasn’t been back to New Orleans for 
years and she is lonely and homesick for it. I must 
say I don’t blame her. How well I remember—” 




302 


The Happy Tower 

“Oh, Grandma, p-l-e-a-s-e!” It was Peter now, 
leaning forward over the table, worried and anxious. 

“Yes, she must have no worries about this property 
and the other houses that came to her due to some 
man’s wicked manipulations. She never wanted any 
of it. She is a very old lady. Older than her 
years . . .” 

“Mercy!” exclaimed Mr. Abbott. “What a predica¬ 
ment!” 

“No predicament at all, my son. None at all,” re¬ 
plied Mrs. Wilton serenely. 

“So—!” And Mr. Abbott leaned back in his chair, 
a glint of amusement flashing into his eyes. Bother 
this actress business! Mother had actually had him 
worried. “They lived happily ever after in the tower 
house!” 

Mrs. Wilton flourished her napkin in his direction. 
“How did you ever guess!” 

Cynthia jumped up from her place and nearly col¬ 
lided with Delia as she ran around the table to kiss 
her grandmother. Peter followed after, then David 
and Judy and Michael, and such a babble and hub¬ 
bub of joy filled the dining room that at length Mrs. 
Abbott put her hands to her ears. But she did not 
protest. She was much too happy. 

“Whew!” exclaimed Mr. Abbott when the hub¬ 
bub had begun to die down. “Leave it to Mother to 


303 


Grandma's Secret 

work up a climax. But please, p-l-e-a-s-e, Mother, be¬ 
gin at the beginning and make sense of it.” 

The children surged back to their places, and Mrs. 
Wilton smilingly waited for silence. It was granted 
her, as soon as it was physically possible—complete, 
breathless, eager silence. 

“Yes, you may stay in this house you love so much, 
just as long as ever you wish,” she told him. “Mrs. 
Carstairs would never, never dream of causing the 
slightest hurt to a lovely baby girl like our engaging 
small Patty, nor to her grandmother, Beulah Wilton, 
who was once, long ago, the toast of her beloved home 
city, New Orleans!” 

“She was right in calling you a great actress, my 
dear Beulah Wilton,” broke in Mr. Abbott. “Great 
—past, present and future, especially the present.” 

Mrs. Wilton bowed. “She recognized me, for all 
that it’s been years since she saw me there. And 
when I told her what it meant to me to have my adored 
family here in this perfect place, and to have it to 
come to when I am tired of hotel rooms, she had only 
one answer. Of course,” Mrs. Wilton added with her 
flashing smile, “I did say we could manage somewhat 
more rent.” 

“Mother, you didn’t!” 

“It is only right and just for me to pay the margin, 
daughter,” went on Mrs. Wilton. “If I had Peter with 



304 


The Happy Tower 

me, his rooms at hotels would cost even more than I 
offered her. And I pointed out to her, too, that what 
with my son-in-law taking such an interest in the place, 
we would be improving it all the time.” 

“Thermometers certainly are most decorative,” 
murmured Mrs. Abbott. 

“And him making the rabbit run showed what he 
can do,” commented Delia, in smiling sarcasm. 

“Can we live here in the country for the rest of our 
lives, Grandma dear,” asked Judy, who wished to be 
sure that she understood, what with all the queer words 
everyone was using. 

“Yes, my lamb, you may,” smiled her grand¬ 
mother. “Here in the country in the happy tower 
house for the rest of your lives.” 

After dinner, Cynthia and Peter were sitting side 
by side on the top step of the porch. Just as soon as 
Mr. and Mrs. Abbott and Mrs. Wilton finished talking 
about Mrs. Carstairs, Grandma was going to unpack 
everything in her theatrical trunk. 

“We’ll all dress up gorgeously,” Grandma had 
said. “Including Delia. Never mind the dishes, Delia. 
And then we’ll have a parade all around the house— 
perhaps even a performance. I’m going to be Little 
Buttercup, and I’d love to sing for you!” 

Patty and Judy and Michael and David had rushed 
to wait for Grandma on the attic stairs. But Cynthia, 
the little grey kitten in her arms, had gone outside 



Grandmas Secret 


305 


into the quietness of the twilight. She was so happy, 
she wished to be alone for a little while—to think 
about it. But she did not mind when Peter joined her. 
She could tell by the expression on his face that he 
felt just as she did. 

Suddenly, the little grey kitten began to purr loudly. 

At the sound, Cynthia turned to Peter. “Peter! 
We’ve been so busy and so worried, we haven’t even 
named him yet. What shall we call him?” 

Peter wrinkled his forehead. “How about—how 
about—” 

“Oh, I know!” Cynthia cried. “I know. Let’s call 
him Lucky. We’re lucky that he came to us. He’s 
lucky he’s found a nice home with so many nice chil¬ 
dren to look after him and play with. And this is the 
luckiest day of our lives because we don’t have to 
move away from our tower house.” 

Mr. Abbott came out onto the porch then, and lean¬ 
ing over, picked up the kitten. 

“His name’s Lucky,” Cynthia told him. “Peter and 
I just decided.” 

Mr. Abbott scratched Lucky under his chin. Then 
he held up the kitten’s furry tail and said as he touched 
its tip, “This is the end of Lucky’s tail and our lucky 
tale.” 







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